


Speculation of the Heart

by mandysimo13



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Angst, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, The Hobbit - Freeform, north and south - Freeform, north and south alternate universe, north and south au, period drama, some character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4730909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins thought he was happy in the small paradise of Helstone. But when his father decides to uproot the small family to the big, industry town of Milton Bilbo has to adjust to the uncaring, fast pace of a modern city. </p><p>Thorin has worked hard to become the man he is. A successful businessman, trusted magistrate and a gruff but honest employer. While he is a tough man to know, he tries to be gentle with those he's fond of.  </p><p>When North and South sensibilities collide the result is a heated battle of wills and a challenge for the two men to overcome their differences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blackbird_singing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_singing/gifts).



> In this story I'm trying to keep as close as possible to the mini series (have not yet read the book) so some of the dialogue is similar but the narrative is all original. As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to comment or kudos as you like!

Bilbo looked out over the parlour turned dance floor and smiled at his cousin Drogo. Newly wed, his cousin looked positively aglow, happily caught in his bride Primula’s embrace and in her sights. Eyes only for each other they twirled around the room oblivious of all except the musicians’ music and each other. It was a happy a sight as he had ever seen and begrudged them none in the slightest.

Of course, young as he was, he had thought of marriage. How could he not? With the whole Shire of Helstone asking him more than he cared to hear when will you settle down? The question only came more often in the months leading up to Drogo and Primula’s union. He was not sure when he would settle, though he never said as much to anyone. It was expected of him to marry, bring respectful and advantageous connections into the family, even acquire heirs should fortune work in his favor. It was expected of him and he both accepted and dreaded the truth of it.

A familiar voice from behind him drew his attention away from his inner thoughts and the couple he watched. “You look handsome this evening.”

Bilbo turned to face the man with a smile. “Henry Lennox. How wonderful to see you.” He clasped hands with him for a brief but firm shake. “How fares you?”

“I fare well but you, Bilbo, look bored.”

Bilbo chuckled lightly and returned his gaze to the couple who had started up a new dance. “No, not bored. Tired.”  Mister Lennox laughed and Bilbo spoke further, “no, no! It’s quite true. Tired from all this embellished activity, the events of the week and,” he pointed to the pink and purple flower crown perched atop his head, “while I’m fond of flowers I believe this might be a bit much.” Spotting the flower girl, aptly described in both her function at the wedding and her floral attire, he removed the crown and dropped it onto her head.

“I rather thought the pink did you quite well,” Mister Lennox said thoughtfully. Then he averted his gaze to the glass in his hand and added, “though you do look quite comely in anything you choose to adorn yourself in.”

They both stood silent while the dance finished. When the applause died and a call for another song was shouted Mister Lennox spoke again. “The ceremony was lovely don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Bilbo answered, eyes flitting between the different partners of the set. “But I must say I have a different picture in mind for my wedding.”

“Truly?”

Bilbo nodded. “I would like to rise on a sunny day, put on my favorite waist coat and trousers, walk with my beloved to the church in simple peace and bliss.” He reached for a glass of champagne from a passing serving tray and took a sip. “I like a party as much as the next person but my wedding will be a simple affair.”

Bilbo was unaware of how his statement, which was in his mind innocuous and matter of fact and not at all an invitation, affected the man who stood behind him. The man in question, Mister Lennox, had had the pleasure of Bilbo’s company for many months while he was in London helping his cousin with his impending wedding. Mister Lennox, quite frankly, had become thoroughly enamored with Bilbo almost instantly. Thus, to hear Bilbo speak of an imagined wedding a small flame of hope began to flicker.

Throughout the evening Bilbo and Henry spoke, drank their toasts and even danced a few sets together. They were never entirely alone as Bilbo had many other cousins and friends in attendance and he made sure to make his rounds to all. But still, the fact that Bilbo did not remove himself from Henry’s company only further fanned his hope. Nearing the end of the evening he and Bilbo had commandeered a couch near the fireplace and Henry asked Bilbo a question.

“Tell me what you think of paradise?”

Bilbo smiled widely and closed his eyes in thought. He tipped his head back into the cushion of the couch before he spoke. “I need not think on paradise. I have already been.”

“You have? Pray, tell me where paradise can be found. For if I smile half as much as you when I think on it I shall count myself a lucky man.”

Bilbo inhaled deeply and began to wax poetic of his favorite place in the world. His own personal paradise. It began with the home in which he was raised. A modest home, in his opinion, but well furnished and comfortable. His family’s garden was next, just out their door, full of sprawling roses and other flowers here and there, hidden between the shrubs. Nothing fancy but truly splendid to behold in his eyes. Next came the streets of Helstone, the shops, the church in which his father was a Parson. His favorite, he saved for last. At the edge of the Shire was a path. It was not well trod, except for Bilbo of course, but if you were to follow it you would come to a great copse of trees, almost a forest in it’s own right. If you were to walk through it you would exit onto a great rolling meadow, full of grass and wildflowers in summer and spring and in the colder months it had a sparse and expansive beauty. “That, my dear Mister Lennox, is paradise.”

“You speak as if you were a poet,” Mister Lennox remarked in almost a whisper.

Bilbo snorted in amusement. “Some days I am. Especially when I am there.”

“Perhaps one day I shall come to visit paradise.”

“You would be most welcome anytime.”

With this one sentence, carefree as it was and said with no intentions, was the deciding factor that led Mister Lennox to believe that Bilbo fancied him as well. He would make arrangements in the morning to travel to Helstone and make his affections known.

But for this night he would be content to speak with Bilbo without further thoughts of future or paradise.

Spring was just beginning it’s slide into summer, a full month after Drogo and Primula’s wedding when Bilbo was startled from a lovely dream. He had been lying, napping, in his favorite spot, just past the copse of trees at the end of a lonely path when a voice woke him.

“Bilbo, is that you?”

Blinking his eyes open into the sunlight he searched for the body to whom the voice was attached. He rolled his head into the direction he guessed the voice came from and then bolted upright when he recognized its owner. “Oh, Mister Lennox!”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Bilbo shook his head, “not at all. Was just about to wake myself, I’m sure.” Then he frowned in confusion at the man, a traveling bag and hat in his hands. “Where did you come from? Why are you here?”

Henry smiled shyly and cast his eyes upon his shoes. “I came to visit paradise.”

Bilbo wracked his brain to place the phrase and invitation. Their conversation on the couch at Drogo’s wedding swiftly entered his mind and he was reminded. “Oh, of course.” He patted the grass beside him, “sit a while, will you? Time enough to settle in later but the sun is so lovely today. Would be a shame to waste the view.”

“Indeed it would.”  Mister Lennox took the offered seat and placed his things beside him. They enjoyed the rest of the afternoon that way, until the sun began to set, talking and sharing of the bread and fruit which Bilbo had brought with him to snack on. Once the sun began to set Bilbo suggested they walk back to town.

“Of course,” Mister Lennox acquiesced. The two men gathered their possessions and then Mister Lennox offered Bilbo his arm. Bilbo accepted and they walked together back to the town.

As they exited the copse Bilbo commented, “I believe that if I were blinded I would be able to walk these paths with nary a problem.”

“You think?” Bilbo nodded. “I have been walking the streets of my home and visiting my father’s parishioners since I was a babe. It’s all very comfortable and familiar.”

Spotting the church Bilbo had spoke of Mister Lennox asked, “so when you had said before, that when you pictured your wedding day. Walking on a sunny day in your favorite clothes to the church, no muss no fuss, were you picturing this path here?”

Bilbo hummed in thought and tilted his head. “Well, I suppose I did.” Reaching the gate of the church he slipped his hand from Henry’s and faced him. “Why do you ask?”

Mister Lennox cleared his throat and made himself meet Bilbo’s eyes. “I was wondering if, that is, if you are so inclined. If you would like to take that walk with me?”

Bilbo’s eyes went wide with shock. “What?”

“I greatly desire to take that walk with you, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo shook his head and held up his hand to circumvent Mister Lennox’s next words. “Please, don’t speak further.”

Henry’s face, so hopeful before and happy, fell into confused despair. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m so sorry, Henry. Please, try understand.”

“Is there someone else?”

“No, of course not.” Bilbo couldn’t understand where this proposal had come from. He had no idea that Mister Lennox had felt for him in this way and he asked him as much. “Why did you think I was looking to be engaged?”

“Our conversation in London,” Henry supplied. “When you spoke of a wedding-”

“I spoke nothing to suggest I was looking for a spouse.”

Mister Lennox’s face grew pinched and reddened with sudden anger, flavored with disappointment. “A gentleman,” he began, his voice clipped and precise, “a gentleman from London would have realized the weight of his words. He would not have spoke of wedding days if he had no wish to marry.”

Bilbo laughed with undisguised humor, “Henry, I don’t understand.” He shook his head, “I have said nothing to you that I should be ashamed of, nor have I tried to lead you falsely into an engagement.”

“I thought that such an invitation would be welcome. I see now that I was wrong.” Bilbo reached out a gentle hand to touch Henry’s face. “Oh, Henry, I mean no offense.” Then he smiled weakly and added, “I do not feel I am ready to marry anyone just yet.”

Mister Lennox just scowled and nodded once. “I see.” Bilbo removed his hand and Henry placed his hat on his head, made a very perfunctory bow and started off down the path the way they had come, leaving Bilbo alone.

 _Fine pickle you’re in now,_ he scolded himself. He knew he should have accepted. Henry Lennox was an accomplished and highly regarded lawyer in London. He would bring in a respectable and comfortable income. Bilbo would have made his expected connections. He would be near great minds and he might be able to find an enjoyable career in writing. His obligations would have been filled and he would be content, in time.

But when Henry began to speak of marriage his heart leapt into his throat in the most uncomfortable manner. He nearly choked on the dread of being locked to another for whom he had no affections beyond those of friendship. Should he have to be content with mediocre affections from one whom he didn’t truly love? Would love grow there given the chance? If he waited long enough would there come a person to whom he could truly love before they went before the altar in the sight of God and their friends and family? Speculation. That’s all it was.

And it scared Bilbo to death.

 

\~*~/

 

The sting of having rejected a suitor, an event his family was not happy with but had accepted, didn’t have long to linger. Just a few short weeks later Bungo Baggins announced that he was to uproot the family and move them to Milton. An argument, sharp but brief, ensued between Bilbo’s parents. In the end, Belladonna Took assented to the move, despite her delicate health. Bungo didn’t divulge his reason for leaving and Belladonna didn’t supply her reason for agreeing. All there was for Bilbo to do was to nod and ask how long he had left in paradise.

By the middle of summer their lovely home was packed away. The possessions they couldn’t take with them, like the piano that Bilbo had played so poorly, had been sold. Their lovely parsonage was gifted to the new parson who would move in just a week after they had left. As if the Baggins family had never been.

Belladonna’s only comfort was that the Gamgees, Hamfast and Bella being their faithful gardeners and servants, would accompany them without question into the unforgiving North.

The small troupe crowded themselves into a shoebox of a train compartment to make their way to Milton. The trip was mostly uneventful. Silent and still unhappy with the state of their move, Belladonna quietly cross-stitched while Bella read to herself. Bilbo’s father and Hamfast had fallen asleep for much of the trip and so Bilbo was left mostly to himself.

This suited him just fine because he was just as unhappy and confused as the rest of the family. He didn’t understand his father’s reasons for uprooting them from their home, his stable income and livelihood, and their established social circle. In the Shire of Helstone, Bagginses were often considered the height of logical thought while Belladonna’s family, the Tooks, were thought to be more wild and unpredictable. Something must have truly unsettled Mr. Baggins, more than the event that nearly killed his mother several years past, to the point of leaving in such a Tookish manner. And Bilbo couldn’t imagine what that could have been.

Not wanting to dwell on the past, it just hurt too much and he missed home already, he opened the small journal in his hands. In it he kept a rose he had pressed the season before, yellow petals slightly faded and delicate from age. At least he would have a small reminder of paradise.

When they were nearing the stop for Milton his mother finally spoke. “Perhaps the Gamgees and I could go to the coast while you and Bilbo prepare our new home.”

Bella Gamgee spoke up immediately, “that would be a fine idea. You know, considering the Mistress’s delicate health-”

“Nonsense,” Bungo cut in. “Your place is with us Belladonna.” He smiled warmly at her, trying to reassure her. “I couldn’t bear to be parted with you, my dear.” He opened the newspaper in his lap to scour again for new listings of houses.

Belladonna sniffed in displeasure, “and where are we to live? The street?” She grimaced. “The streets of Milton are full of soot and dirt. Dirtier than London, I hear.”

“Mother,” Bilbo soothed. “There’s a lovely little inn that will stay in while father and I look.”

“Exactly that, my dear. And my colleague from school, Mister Gandalf Mithrandir, has offered his assistance in both securing work and a new home. Already he is searching for teaching posts for me.” He elbowed Bilbo gently and added, “and perhaps there might be some leisurely work for our dear Bilbo. Writing for the blind widows or voice coaching.”

Bilbo laughed, trying to sound light and unconcerned. “Perhaps, father.” Then he clasped his mother’s hands in his own and leaned in to place a kiss to her cheek. “We’ll get on just fine. I’m sure of it.”

 

\~*~/

 

The Bagginses had been staying in Milton two days, in an inn that was less lovely and more utilitarian. Mother was miserable and the Gamgees did their best to cheer her. While Bilbo and his father searched for a suitable home they took her on walks around the city and to visit the shops. They tried to get her to think of new decor ideas and thoughts of new furniture and all manner of things but her answer to their efforts was always “how am I to decorate a home I’ve never seen”?

Bilbo could understand her displeasure. She had lived in the Shire longer than he and had many more friends and memories than he did. This move was harder on her than Bungo had anticipated and he knew his father was sorry for it. Still, he gave no reason and they asked for none.

This day Bilbo was on his own to visit an estate while his father inquired about a teaching position with Gandalf. Following the directions Gandalf had written for him, he arrived at the appointed building. The neighborhood he walked through to get there left something to be desired but the street on which the house in question was rather clean. The grey stone a bit sooty from the industrial smoke in the air, but mostly clean. It’s sparse face gave a nod to their simple living back in Helstone and Bilbo was encouraged. Nothing too elaborate to overstate their wealth, for they were only mildly well off compared to Milton society, but nothing too simple as to suggest that their were paupers. Yes, encouraged would be the word to describe Bilbo’s thoughts on the house.

He knocked, hoping the realtor was within. Hearing no response he tried the door and, finding it unlocked, he strode in to take a peek. He stepped into the foyer and saw a thin staircase before him. To his right was a receiving room and beyond he would have to guess at later. As he strode further into the house voices from above redirected his attention and he began to climb the stairs to greet them, hoping at least one belonged to the realtor.

He quietly mounted the steps and about halfway up the voices grew clear and he gaped in horror at what they were saying. “-former clergyman, I hear.”

“What in the world would make him want to uproot his family. And leave the church, besides? Strange behavior.”

“Well, you know what they say. ‘The devil makes work for idle hands’. Maybe his hands weren’t so idle.”

The two men laughed and Bilbo covered his mouth in shock. Not even here a week and already his family was subject to jokes, speculation and gossip. That would never do. He made a point of stepping louder as he climbed the remaining steps and entered the room, which Bilbo quickly assessed was the parlour, and made his presence known.

“Gentlemen,” Bilbo said with false cheer. “Good day.”

“Who are you,” inquired a man in a dark colored suit.

“I am Mister Bilbo Baggins.” He walked further into the room and extended a hand and asked, “and who might you be?”

The man coughed into his fist and said, “Uh, Williams, Mister Baggins. I am Master Durin’s manservant. He has sent me to inquire about properties for your father.”

Bilbo nodded.”I know not who Master Durin is but I thank him for his help.” He cast a glance around the room. He liked how the sun glinted through the curtains. He knew his mother would like it too. “How much is the rent for a year? We’ve been looking for two days now, so I’m well aware of what is a fair price or no.”

“Oh, this is no worry for you, lad. We’ll discuss the particulars with your father. No need concerning yourself with money.”

Bilbo’s brows knit in frustration. _Of course they think me too young to know which end was up._ No matter. “Mister Williams, I can assure you it is well within my limits to concern myself. My father and I are sharing the task of securing a home.”

The man smiled, trying to pacify Bilbo’s hurt pride. “Lad, I’m sure Master Durin would be more than happy to discuss these matters when your fa-”

“Where is Master Durin,” Bilbo interrupted. He did not have the patience to contend with people who thought him young and stupid.

“I’m sorry?”

“Where is Master Durin? If he so concerned with my family’s affairs then I shall have the pleasure of speaking with him myself.” The man sputtered in front of him and so he asked again. “Pray tell, where is Master Durin?” Receiving no answer he headed towards the door and said over his shoulder, “if you will not deal with me then I shall have to deal with Master Durin, himself. Show me to him, if you’d be so kind.” Without another word he was down the stairs, out the door and waiting on the stoop for Williams.

 

\~*~/

 

The walk from the house to the Oakenshield Cotton Mill was short. But in that time Bilbo got a pretty good idea of the living conditions for the lower class of Milton lived. The streets were dirty and sooty and crowded. Most inhospitable to Bilbo’s thinking but he ignored it. When they approached the gates to the sprawling Mill grounds Bilbo gaped. “And Master Durin lives here?”

“Aye,” Williams nodded. “But he will be at work in the mill. Follow me, if you please.”

They approached the great building in which Master Durin kept his offices. Williams led him inside and to Master Durin’s personal office. “Wait here, sir, and I shall fetch him for you.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied and stood at the window to wait. He checked his pocket watch to keep track of the hour and then set his sights on the workers milling around in the yard. It buzzed with activity, men loading bundles of unrefined cotton and loading huge parcels of processed bolts of cotton. There were children running from building to building, passing messages or pursuing some task or another. He checked his watch again and saw it had been nearly a half hour since he was left there to wait.

“How positively rude,” Bilbo grimaced. It was incredibly rude for a man, a businessman at that, to leave a guest and potential client waiting. _Well, I’ll show him_ , Bilbo thought as he went himself to search for this Master Durin.

And then promptly became lost.

Hallway after hallway, corner after corner, took Bilbo through the mill. He crossed through several buildings of people toiling away, moving machinery and materials. All the while there was a constant dusting of cotton tufts. Almost too small to see but they made their presence known in his eyes and in his nose and in his mouth before he thought better of it and covered it with a handkerchief. _How do people work in these conditions_ , he thought angrily. It was bad enough just walking through. He couldn’t imagine having to breathe in the fibers day in and day out.

Finally he came to a giant door. A big, barn style door stood closed in his way. He looked around and saw that he was alone. Curious of what lay beyond he pulled it open. What he saw left him breathless.

Row after row of growling, rolling machinery. The sound drowned out everything including thought, or so it seemed to Bilbo. But the thing that captured him most was the cotton. Big, puffy tufts of it like falling snow fell through the air on currents all their own. He was dumbfounded. If he hadn’t felt the unpleasant feeling of cotton in his mouth and scraping down his throat he would have thought it beautiful.

Across the room a figure dressed in a smart, black suit and standing on the stairs captured his attention. He looked like an overseer at first, but an overseer never dressed so fine. The man watched over the room with a careful, thoughtful gaze, eyes watching everyone. He looked very handsome and pleasant to Bilbo at first glance.

That was, of course, before the shouting began.

“Stevens!”

A man with a smoking pipe in his hand swiveled his head to look at the man on the stairs. And then his whole face quivered with fear and he took off running.

“Stevens! I saw you! Come back here this instant!”

Caught in curiosity Bilbo followed them as the man named Stevens and the suited man took off down a corridor Bilbo had missed in the haze of cotton. Bilbo, several seconds behind the chase, had almost caught up with them just as the two men rounded a corner. He kept running and heard a thunk as if a man had fallen and then more shouting.

“Smoking again?!”

“No, no, Master Durin! I swear, I wasn’t!”

“I saw it, damn you! Where is it.”

Then Bilbo turned the corner and saw the suited man, that was now named as the same Master Durin for whom he had been searching. He was beating the cowering man, punching and kicking him while Stevens begged for mercy.

“Please, Master Durin! Mercy!”

“You know the rules, Stevens! You put us all in danger!”

“I have little ones! They’ll starve!”

“Better to starve than to burn alive!”

He followed the statement with another punishing punch to Stevens’ face. Bilbo couldn’t stomach the brutality any longer. He had to speak. “Please, stop!”

Master Durin straightened at the outburst and spun to face Bilbo. “Who are you?”

“Bilbo Baggins,” he replied. Horrified with the display he continued, “please stop! I-I’ve been looking for you-”

“Mister Baggins!”

Bilbo turned to face Williams who had finally shown his face. _Now he shows up!_

Master Durin shouted then, “get him out of here!”

“Please sir,” Williams pled, ushering Bilbo out towards the hall he had just exited. “Please, please, come with me. This is no place for you, sir.” Before he was escorted away he made eye contact with an amused young woman. Curious as to her expression his eyes locked onto hers until he was pulled from sight.

Bilbo had never been so horrified in his life. A man beaten near senseless in full view of his fellow coworkers. An employer should be positively embarrassed with such behavior and yet Master Durin looked as if he were rightly justified in his actions. As Bilbo left without formally meeting Master Durin or inquiring about the property he could do nothing but be relieved that he was leaving without speaking to so unreasonable a man.

As it happened the next day Bungo managed to meet with Mister Mithrandir and Master Durin and agree upon a lease. By the end of the week the minor changes to the house, new wallpaper and furniture being added, were done and the family was ready to move in officially. Once they were settled Bilbo dutifully wrote to his cousin to inquire about his honeymoon, which he had recently returned from, and to tell him of where they had set up.

It took a week for him to respond.

 

_My dear cousin,_

_Our honeymoon was delightful. All I could ask for. We had been in Corfu so long that I’m quite certain that I’m fluent in Greek. Or so my Primula tells me. But then again, all she says is agreeable and I’m very inclined to believe all she says. I am happy to hear that you have settled but I must ask something that I fear will make you quite cross with me. Why on earth did uncle move you all so far away. When you left there was no explanation and I have come up empty of one myself. Why move you so far from home where all they do is make cotton, which no one of any consequence is willing to buy? I’m certain that we shall always wear linen, a much more comfortable and fine fabric, if I do say so myself. Now that you’re unhappy with me, may I ask how you yourself fare? Are you happy there? Say the word and I shall insist upon you being here in London with me. I will insist I cannot live without you as my companion and bustle you back where true civilization resides. Write to me soon, dearest Bilbo._

_-Sincerely, Drogo_

 

The letter made him happy. To hear that Drogo and Primula were well and that they had returned safely from Greece put his mind somewhat at ease. But he asked the question that all had been asking once again. And he had no answer for him. Frowning at that aspect he sat down at his desk to write his response.

 

_Dear Drogo,_

_Yes, we have settled well. I’m pleased to report that we have finally replaced the horrid wallpaper with colors more agreeable. If you remember our parlour room in Helstone then you will get a similar idea of our new one in Milton. More cheery than when we arrived, I assure you. If you can believe it, the Gamgees are doing quite well. They have, in fact, started a garden in the back of our property. Though I know not if pleasure flowers or kitchen herbs will thrive in the smokey, city air, I wish them the best of luck. As for myself, I know not yet if I am happy here. I am content, for sure. Well cared for and keeping busy. I do hope to visit in London sometime but I’m afraid now is not the time. Please keep in touch, for your letters make me smile._

_All the best,_

_Bilbo_

 

\~*~/

 

The day had finally come where the family would know of why they left Helstone for Milton. Bella and Hamfast had just dismissed a woman who was too proud to be a servant, said that the family’s suggested wage was not good enough for her. Bilbo snickered behind his palm and thought, good riddance to that, then. He wouldn’t be comfortable knowing they had employed someone who felt that they were unfairly paid. More likely to steal and cause trouble. They had already given enough material to the neighbors to gossip over, no need to add fuel to that fire.

Bilbo sat with his mother in the parlour. They shared silent looks over their reading, nervous about the state of their reputation. When Bungo joined them he could sense their unease.

“What’s the matter, Belladonna?” Receiving no answer he moved his gaze to Bilbo. “Bilbo? What is it?”

Bilbo looked at his mother for help and she finally spoke. “There has been some talk, dear.” 

"Talk?” He looked at each of them in turn and asked. “What kind of talk?”

Bilbo licked his lips and spoke tentatively, “I heard some talk. When we were house hunting. About why we moved to Milton.”

“About why you left the church. Why you left the parish and uprooted us,” her voice had risen but then she collected herself. After calming she added, “just because we follow you without question doesn’t mean it’s not normal for people to wonder.”

Bungo looked defeated. The older man sighed, resigned, and took a letter out of his pocket. He handed it to Belladonna without a word. She saw the seal and gasped. “From the Bishop? Is it about Frederick?”

“No, no,” Bungo assured. “I keep this letter with me always to remind me of my decision. To reassure myself that I made the right one.”

Unconvinced of its innocence Belladonna bent to read. After several moments she read aloud, “I ask that all parsons of the New Forest reaffirm their belief in the common book-”

“That, exactly,” Bungo interjected. “He is ten years our junior, at least, and yet he treats us as if we were children.”

“But...but this is a formality!”

“One that I couldn’t abide.” Bilbo and Belladonna just stared, shocked and uncertain, waiting for him to continue. Bungo licked his lips and stuck his hands in his waistcoat to keep his fingers from fidgeting. “I have kept my doubts to myself for some time now. But this,” he pointed to the paper in Belladonna’s hands and said, “I cannot publicly swear upon beliefs which I’m no longer sure in.” He sighed, “it’s a matter of conscience.”

“Conscience,” Belladonna whispered. “Conscience!”

Bilbo could look upon the scene no further. He left the room, not wishing to see his parents argue. But he stood on the stair unseen to listen to the rest, too curious to tear himself away entirely.

“My dear Bella-”

“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me!”

“There are many others who felt the same. Many other parsons who felt it a lie to reaffirm with such questions in their mind.”

“Are you telling me that there were others who left their homes? Their churches?” Bilbo could hear her crunching the paper in her hand and toss it at Bungo. “Are you to tell me that you uprooted us, gave up our home and income our….our stability! All on the matter of a formality?”

“It’s not like that, Belladonna! It really isn’t! I already have work teaching. And I shall find more. You’ll see, we’ll be okay.” He could hear his mother sniffle and his heart ached.

“And people have called me a fool of a Took. Well, more the fool you. What’s your conscience say about this now?”

Without another word Belladonna stormed out of the room and up the stairs. When she passed Bilbo she spoke not a word. He watched her go in misery to her room and heard the bedroom door slam. He turned back to the parlour and bit his lip nervously. _Things will get better,_ he tried to console himself. They had to.

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo was on his way home from a visit with Gandalf. He had decided against a carriage because of the expense and because he generally preferred to walk. He knew the way well by now, having walked there a couple of times already. He had to walk down a set of public steps out onto a street near the mill. His previous trips were uneventful, the streets being empty of anything interesting.

This day, however, he left later than he meant to. As he walked down the steps he heard a loud whistle blow. He assumed it was from the mill. His suspicion was confirmed when suddenly a wave of bodies came at him from the top of the stair. Nervous of walking with the crowd and unsure where to put his feet he flattened himself against the wall. He tried to let the tide of people go by him but they seemed to find some kind of sport in him.

The crowd seemed to find him amusing, a young gentleman out on his own and nervous. People shoved into him on purpose and tried to lift his hat from his head. One man pointed and laughed at his flushed cheeks and opened his mouth to make a comment. And then another one spoke before him.

“Enough you vultures, move on.”

“Aw, c’mon! Just havin’ a bit o’fun.”

Bilbo’s rescuer, a handsome but dingy man with longer brown hair and closely cropped goatee, scowled at the jeering man and his tormentor was soon off. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

“No trouble,” the man replied. He took Bilbo’s elbow gently and steered him down the rest of the steps. “Mind your feet when the whistle for break sounds.”

“In the future, I will. I confess, I haven’t been here long enough to know the schedule of the mills.”

The man just huffed and nodded in reply.

At the bottom of the steps a carriage stood and Bilbo decided not to press his luck. He dug into his pocket for a shilling to pay the man for his help. He smiled and said, “no charge.” He looked at Bilbo as if he was insulting his rescuer. Confused he just nodded his thanks again and climbed into the carriage.

Back at home he found he had received another letter from Drogo. After the reason for their move was exposed Bilbo had written to Drogo at once to express his shock and displeasure over the whole affair. He knew his father truly felt in his heart he was right but he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. Ever since Frederick’s exile his father’s outlook on life grew steadily grimmer. He tore into the envelope to read Drogo’s reply.

 

_Dear Bilbo,_

_Oh shock and awe is all I have to say at the dealing of our uncle! How selfish of him to do that to you all on a matter of conscience? I would say it would weigh heavier on my conscience to steal Primula and our child away for an uncertain live in the industrial towns for the sake of unsure ideals. Perhaps he should have gone searching for the weight of his ideals and the state of his convictions elsewhere before dragging you all so far away. Would have been the way of a Baggins anyway. With the way uncle Bungo is behaving you’d think him a Took. No offense to your dear mother, of course._

_Oh, and have I failed to mention earlier? Primula is with child! It has come so fast and we are overjoyed! I wonder if you have any suggestions for names? We have none ourselves at the moment but we’ll keep you up to date. Come to London soon! We miss you!_

_-As always,_

_Drogo_

 

Bilbo was overjoyed to hear of his cousin’s happiness. It was good to hear that others were doing well and finding bliss in their lives even if he wasn’t. His mother was still unhappy with his father and Bungo just tried to appease her and not further enrage her. Trying to put a good spin on things, Bilbo sat at his desk and wrote back.

 

_Cousin Drogo,_

_I am overjoyed to hear of your new addition. I can’t wait to see the smiling face of a new cousin in the months to come. I have no ideas of names at present but I shall write to you if I come up with some. I know none of us are very happy with father’s decision but we are making do._

_Mother has started making her visits to Milton society, visiting Gandalf and his acquaintances. She’s also taken, once again, much to reading in the parlour as she ever did. Though I think it’s more of an escape from her depression than a genuine pleasure these days._

_As for my father he is teaching now. He lectures in the hall several days a week. Though some of it unpaid, and probably unwanted, it brings in enough for us to be comfortable. He will be tutoring privately in our home soon and I’m sure it will make him most happy. For now, it is enough. In time, I’m sure things will be less rocky and more enjoyable. We’ll see how the fall treats us. I confess that there is not many grand places to visit, museums or palaces, but there are some lovely parks to walk through. I do take a daily walk to take the fresh air, however little of it that can be found in Milton. I will come to London soon, I promise._

_-With love,_

_Bilbo_

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo returned from his daily walk to the sound of his father talking.

“You must make a decision, Thorin.”

“I find myself indecisive. They both sound fascinating.”

Curious as to the new guest, Bilbo hung his coat and then entered the receiving room where he stopped short at the sight of who he saw.

“Oh, Bilbo!” His father greeted him with a cheery disposition and a clap on the back. “Bilbo, this is Master Thorin Durin, my new pupil.” He gestured to the man in front of him who was, indeed, Master Durin. “Master Durin, I don’t believe you’ve met my son, Bilbo.” Bungo returned his attention to his son. “Master Durin is having a hard time choosing between Aristotle and Plato. Thoughts?”

From the second Bilbo had entered the room Master Durin’s eyes had placed themselves on Bilbo. “Master Baggins, I believe your son and I have already met.” Master Durin frowned ever so slightly, “though it was under more unpleasant circumstances.”

“Oh,” Bungo inquired.

“I had to dismiss one of my workers.”

Bilbo was furious. “I saw you beat a man who was not your equal.”

Master Durin blinked. Bungo gasped, “Bilbo!”

“No, no,” Master Durin soothed, “he is right.” His eyes shifted from Bilbo, finally, onto Bungo. “A man was smoking on the sorting floor and he became a danger.” He returned his gaze onto Bilbo and added, “fire is the greatest danger in a cotton mill.”

Bilbo frowned, “still there is no reason to behave so savagely.”

“I’ll admit,” Master Durin replied, “I have a temper. And I was angry.” His lips turned into a scowl. “But if you had seen the fire that took Smaug’s mill last winter, three hundred bodies, many of them children, you wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo understood the danger and Master Durin’s righteous anger but he couldn’t help but disapprove of the method Master Durin chose to express his rage. Bilbo said his goodbyes to the men and left the room. Deciding to go for another walk to cool down he grabbed his coat and left without another word.

During his walk through a cemetery park he saw someone he recognized. The woman from the mill who he saw during his altercation with Master Durin. She was pretty in her youth, long dark hair and shining eyes with a healthy tint to her cheeks and Bilbo couldn’t help but stare for a moment. She looked back at him and kept walking without another word. A few minutes later she looked back and he was still there.

“Are you followin’ me,” she asked.

Caught he blushed and choked out, “no! Well, yes.” He quickened his pace to stand beside her. “It’s just that, I recognized you.”

“I recognize you too.” She smiled. “Gave it good to ol’ Master Durin. That’s a sight. Don’t see that very often.”

She kept on walking but Bilbo was now determined to find out who she is. “You work up at Oakenshield mill then?”

“Yeah. But my da works up at Mirkwood. It’s him I’m walkin’ to see.” She stopped and scanned ahead, “and speak of the devil.”

The man who had saved him from being ridiculed and trampled earlier walked up to the girl from the mill and hugged her. “Well, look who it is.”

The girl looked amused. “Know each other then?”

“In a way,” the man said. “You’re new in town. Said so, yourself.”

“Yes, I’m from the south. Shire of Halestone, actually.” The man smiled and without another word he slung an arm over the girl’s shoulder and together they walked down the hill path towards the center of town. “Wait,” Bilbo shouted and jogged to catch up. “What’re your names? Where are you from?” Then he licked his lips and offered up his own name first.

They stopped and looked at him. The man answered, “Bard Bowman. This is my daughter Sigrid. We’re set up behind the Prancing Pony in Princeton. Why you ask?”

“Well, it’s just that…”

“Well, come now, spit it out.”

“I just thought I’d bring by a basket.”

“A basket,” Sigrid giggled. “Whatever for? Don’t have anything to put in it.”

Bard spoke up then. “Most people around here wait for an invitation before they come droppin’ in on their neighbors.” He walked off a ways before turning his head. “You can come by if you like but I promise you, a fine lad such as yourself won’t like what you see.” He snorted in amusement and said, “if you even remember us.”

They walked off the rest of the path and left Bilbo on his own.

 

\~*~/

 

A few days later they received a call from Master Durin’s mother and his sister Dis. The whole affair was full of tension. All parties involved could tell right away that none of them liked each other and yet were demanded by society to converse with one another and include each other in their affairs.

After serving their guests tea, Bilbo sat beside his mother in the awkward silence. Trying to stem the uncomfortable air Belladonna cleared her throat and commented on Mrs. Durin’s attire. “Your shawl is lovely. I don’t believe I have seen such fine stitchwork in years.”

The older woman looked down at the shawl around shoulders and smiled thinly. “Yes. Our textiles here in Milton are comparable to the finest in the world.”

Dis said unnecessarily, “mama is very proud of Milton.” She whispered across the room, “dirty, smoky place as it is.”

Misses Durin frowned at her daughter and Dis averted her eyes to her teacup and took a long sip. For several more minutes no one else spoke and they drank their tea in silence. Dis, spying the plate of cakes that had been brought out reached a hand to investigate them. She hovered over them for a second or two before deciding they were not to her liking and replaced her hand in her lap.

Bilbo tried desperately to think of a topic that would unite them all in common. Finally he said, “I hear there are concerts here.”

“Yes there are but they’re very crowded,” Dis replied, holding out her teacup for a refill. Bilbo obliged her. “They seem to just let anyone and everyone wander in from the streets as if all can appreciate them.” Misses Durin hummed in agreement as she took a sip from her cup. Dis looked around the room with a shrewd eye. “I see that you have no piano. Do you play anything at all, Mister Baggins?”

Bilbo smiled uneasily and replied, “I do not play so very well. When we left Helstone we had to sell many of our larger belongings. Our piano included.” He set his cup on its saucer on the table. “But it’s not missed very much these days. We’ve been keeping very busy round here.”

“I should say,” Misses Durin said. She looked directly at Belladonna and asked very abruptly, “why exactly have you come to Milton?”

Belladonna swallowed thickly. “My husband decided it. His decision was prompted by a matter of conscience,” she said carefully, wishing not to divulge too much of the sore topic.

“I thought he had left the church some time ago.” Mrs. Durin said primly as sipped the last of her tea and placed her cup on the table between them. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Wanting to change the subject quickly Belladonna drew attention to the lady’s own son. “Yes, indeed he has. To become a teacher. Tutors your own son, as I’m sure you know.” As Bilbo refilled the older woman’s tea cup she added brightly, “I think it makes him feel young again to speak the classics with a man such as your son, clean slate and all. I think he finds it refreshing.”

Misses Durin was unimpressed. “It’s all well and good for those with idle hands to discuss the classics. But men of this day and age should be sticking to the work of today and not waste their time in the past. This is the new world where time is money. And money equals respect and notoriety, as anyone in Milton, or in London, could tell you.” Then she smiled fondly with unseeing eyes. “Ask anyone of Thorin Durin and they’ll tell you he’s as fine a businessman, magistrate and friend as anyone could have.”

As an afterthought she added, “and he’s sought after by many a suitor. All of the young people in Milton are enthralled with him.”

Bilbo snorted without thinking and blurted, “surely not all of them.” Then his brain caught up with his mouth and he tried to keep a relatively cool demeanor on his face.

Misses Durin’s countenance was blank. No trace of anger, confusion or amusement. She simply looked at Bilbo’s mother and said, “if you had a son who was so highly accomplished you wouldn’t worry about singing his praises.” She rose from the chair which prompted everyone else to stand too. “We shall be seeing you Friday for dinner, then?” The Bagginses nodded and she said hummed in acknowledgement. Then the two Durin women swept out of the parlour and down the stairs. “Until Friday then, Mister and Misses Baggins.”

They saw the two women out and after the door closed Bilbo leaned against it. “Phew, glad that’s over.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder and said, “didn’t think their big egos could fit in our little parlour.”

To that Belladonna just laughed. The two of laughed until their sides hurt at which point they collected themselves and went in search of Bella Gamgee in the kitchen. She purposely hadn’t set out the good cakes and Bilbo was in a mind to snack on more pleasant treats than the tea cakes upstairs.

Later that evening Bungo returned from his meeting with the magistrates and masters of Milton. He regaled his family with the events of the evening; a splendid dinner hosted by Master Durin himself and a lively discussion with cigars and brandy. “It’s very interesting,” Bungo recalled, “that Master Durin seems to be the only master among them with a Christian bone in his body.” Bilbo opened his mouth to reply but Bungo shushed him, “listen it’s true. One of the men who owned another mill, Master Laketown was gloating about his mistreatment of his workers. As they explained, there’s this ventilation system that works with a wheel. Very complex but the idea is to try and keep much of the fluff that flies about in the mills off the workers’ lungs so that they can breathe better. Well, the man in question said that he was going to install this wheel but then there seemed to be disagreement among the workers. Half of them were grateful and the other half complained that they would have to be paid more because there would no longer be as much fluff for them to swallow every day and they’d be hungrier. While they argue, the master refuses to install the new wheel and gloats over his savings.”

“What does this have to do with Master Durin,” Bilbo asked, not entirely uninterested.

“He says that he’s had a wheel installed in all his buildings. Said that the long term profits of healthy workers was better than the short term profits of not installing the wheel.” He sipped the brandy in his hand and smirked. “Then it was told to me by another gentleman, Master Thranduil Greenleaf, that Master Durin plays his business incredibly safe. He engages in no speculations or risky business endeavors at all! Even when the profit margins are great!”

“That seems rather silly for a man with money on his mind,” Belladonna remarked.

“I would say the same if I had not heard him speak of why.” He smiled at the thought, “said that he would not risk the livelihood of his workers on the word of some flimsy speculation. When I said that that was the Christian thing to do he just looked at me and said, ‘I’m a businessman, not a philanthropist. My mill is not a charity.’ It was quite interesting, the whole exchange.”

Bilbo sat back and sipped from his own brandy glass and thought upon the words of his father. Eventually, Bungo’s words drowned themselves out in a haze of brandy and Bilbo’s own thoughts. How could a man who cares so for his workers behave so abhorrently, he wondered. But the hour was late and his afternoon with the Durin women had tired both him and his mother. Together they said goodnight and left his father to his study.

While he drifted off to sleep Bilbo tried to piece together the puzzle that was Thorin Durin.

 

\~*~/

 

It had been several days before Bilbo had gathered the courage to talk to Sigrid Bowman again. He carefully packed a basket, full of preserves, fresh bread and some sausages and fruit. He thought that the groceries might seem an insult but, then again, if he had showed up with nothing after telling them that he meant to bring a gift that might also cause offence. He was still unsure of himself in this town and he meant to tread lightly.

He found his way down to Princeton, taking a cab to the Prancing Pony. From there he was unsure of where to go. He looked around to see if he could spot Sigrid or Bard and seeing no one he began to panic. He walked a little ways, remembering that they lived somewhere behind the pub and tried to find any sign of his intended. He spotted a woman with a babe crooked in one arm and a child on her free hand entering one of the buildings nearby and decided to ask for directions.

“Excuse me, miss,” Bilbo said just before she entered her home. “I was wondering if you knew where Sigrid Bowman lives?”

The woman cocked her chin in the direction behind Bilbo. “Just round the corner, there.” Her daughter was crying and Bilbo looked down to see what was the matter. The woman noticed him looking and said, “she ain’t ‘fraid of you. She’s just hungry. S’why she cries.”

Bilbo was stunned by her frankness and the child’s suffering. He reached into his pocket to pull out a shilling or two for their supper but the woman took no more notice of him and just repeated, “she’s just round the corner. I think she’s home, anyway.”

Bilbo nodded his thanks and walked off in the direction she pointed. He spotted a door, just behind the pub and went to knock. He waited a moment and almost chickened out and left when the door open. An unfamiliar young woman answered and Bilbo frowned thinking he got the wrong house. “I’m sorry, I was looking for Sigrid Bowman.”

The girl’s expression didn’t change at all but she stepped aside and gestured for Bilbo to come inside. Inside he found the girl he had been looking for and greeted her with a smile.

“I knew you’d be by,” Sigrid said, not getting up from her seat at their table. “Da didn’t believe me but here you are.” She looked at the basket hooked over his arm and she chuckled, “and you brought a basket, too?”

Bilbo smiled and set it on the table. “I said I intended to. And so I did.”

They spent nearly half an hour talking and laughing. Sigrid seemed to cough an awful lot when she laughed and it concerned Bilbo. But she shrugged it off, saying she had a bit of a cold and she would be better soon. Her sister Tilda, the girl who had answered the door, looked concerned but Bilbo didn’t press. Wasn’t his business after all. When Bard arrived at the home he chuckled mirthlessly to himself.

“She said you’d be by,” he pointed to Sigrid. “Didn’t believe her. Shows how much I know.”

“Well, I’m sure you had cause to not believe me. Though I won’t ask.”

“Hmph, best you don’t.” The man sat at his table and pulled out his pipe. “Do you mind at all?”

“None at all,” Bilbo replied honestly.

“How was the meeting, dad,” Sigrid asked softly.

Bard eyed Bilbo thoughtfully, unsure of whether or not to speak. “Don’t mind me. Speak freely in your home.” He shrugged, “it’s not as if I have anyone here to be telling secrets to.”

Bard nodded and took puffed on his pipe. He didn’t reply to Sigrid but he asked instead of Bilbo, “your father, the old parson. He’s been dining with the masters.”

Bilbo nodded. “Master Durin is a pupil of my father’s but make no mistake, he’s no friend of mine. Master Durin often asks my father to accompany him to social gatherings and I see no reason to protest. It’s good for his reputation.”

Bard hummed appreciatively around his pipe. “And he lectures at Lyceum Hall.”

“Yes, every Sunday.” “That’s good to know,” Bard said.

Unwilling to speak anymore about meetings his daughter then asked, “how is Boucher?”

Bard turned to his daughter then as answered her. “He’s barely holding on as it is. Rotten circumstances he’s under but don’t worry.” He puffed on his pipe and exhaled the smoke before continuing. “When the time comes he’ll join us like all the others. He can’t afford not to.”

Feeling as though he’d encroached on territory that was no longer welcoming Bilbo rose. “I think I shall take my leave.” He bowed to Bard and said, “it was good to see you again, sir. Sigrid, I do hope to visit again soon.”

“Any time, Bilbo. Any time.”

Tilda showed him out and Bilbo, lightened with the prospect of new friendship, set his sights on home.

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin rose early as usual to take breakfast with his mother. He sat with her while they drank their morning coffee and ate their eggs and toast while sharing in conversation. His mother was looking to marry off Dis very soon and she was talking to prospective suitors. Thorin told her of the many new sources of cotton and speculated upon Egypt’s unsustainable prices. They both agreed that continuing to buy cotton from America was the best option considering the price and stability.

After breakfast Thorin donned his jacket and grabbed his hat and gloves before bending to place a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “Don’t forget, I have tea with the Bagginses tonight. I shall be home to change before then.”

“Why ever would you need to change to take tea with an ex-clergyman?”

Thorin smiled indulgently at his mother, “because he is a gentleman. And his son is an accomplished young man with potential. It is good for us to maintain connections with them.” She crooked her eyebrow in amusement and Thorin huffed, “I see what you’re trying to say, mother. Have no fear, Bilbo Baggins will not have me even if I wished.” He walked a small distance to a mirror to check the state of his hair. “He has no care for our Northern ways.”

“Hmph, and why wouldn’t he? You’re as fine a catch as any of the men or women in our circle. He could hardly do better.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” He bent to kiss her once more and then left to begin the day’s work.

The work of the day went by as fast as it always did, the hustle and bustle of the factory carrying them through the day. He stopped briefly to change and assure himself that Dis had done her studies and that his mother was well. He caught a carriage and made his way to the Bagginses home. The fare was welcome and adequate but the conversation is really what he came for. Not with Bilbo, mind you, but with Bungo.

The man had enjoyed the luxury of college and Thorin envied him immensely. He chose Bungo as his tutor specifically because he had attended Oxford and had remained in close contact with several of his colleagues, including his own banker Gandalf, a close friend of his own family. Being a learned man and patient, Bungo was the perfect candidate. He never scowled at Thorin when he became heated in discussion. Nor did he laugh rudely whenever he misunderstood. Thorin grew quite fond of his tutor. Already he had learned much and he had high hopes to continue with Bungo.

That evening Bungo had suggested that Bilbo sit in on their conversation about electricity and it’s new applications in the milling industry. The two men grew so enthralled with their discussion that Bilbo was left out entirely, as unintentional as it may have been. Thorin noticed once while Bungo talked that Bilbo had favored a book instead of conversation. That suited Thorin just fine because every time Bilbo opened his mouth the man made it his mission to infuriate him, insisting upon Thorin’s wickedness and apathy for anyone not of his own class. He supposed, as an outside observer, that his treatment of Stevens might have seemed harsh and unfair. But the flames that at Smaug’s mill tortured him in his mind’s eye at the most inopportune moments. He would prevent a disaster of that kind at all costs. No matter what young Bilbo thought.

When he next looked over Bilbo had abandoned his book and fallen asleep. Thorin chuckled at the sight, briefly to himself admitting that Bilbo’s features were softened and more beautiful while he slept. He could almost picture Bilbo at rest beside him in a more domestic setting, head laying against his breast while they sat before the fire in his own parlour at home. Disturbed by his own musings he cleared his throat to distract Bungo from his ramblings. He gestured to Bilbo with a smile and said to Bungo, “I believe we have bored poor Bilbo.”

Just then the man himself stirred and blinked open his eyes. Thorin couldn’t help but stare at them, glassy from sleep and yet beautiful. Like sapphires. “No, no,” Bilbo said groggily. “I’m just tired today. I took a long walk this afternoon.” He rose to pour himself some tea. “Must have wore me out more than I thought.”

 _Smoothly done, Bilbo,_ he thought. Civil and polite unless his sentiments were provoked, Bilbo was. Would have been endearing if Thorin hadn’t been at the target of Bilbo’s misplaced emotions. He watched as Bilbo went to fix himself and Thorin a fresh cup of tea. Bilbo’s delicate nature with the china was interesting to watch. He gently handled his tea cup as if the slightest move would break it. And yet it was graceful like a dance and Thorin couldn’t stop staring.

Belladonna took the liberty of joining them at that moment and Bungo rose to greet her. He kissed her cheek and sat her next to him on his couch. “My dear, Thorin has just been commenting on the fantastic changes you’ve made to the house.”

“Why thank you,” Belladonna said with a smile. “We had quite a time trying to find suitable decor choices. Milton seems to be quite fond of simplicity despite it’s metropolitan leanings. It’s certainly a different turn from the competitive nature of London’s design market.”

Thorin smiled wryly at the backhanded comment. He loved Milton for what it was: a thriving and competitive town that had no use for excess frivolity. The city fit him like a glove and he took no offense to the comment. “Well, I am pleased that Milton has almost passed muster. London certainly has its draws for those who enjoy a great embellishment.”

Belladonna did not reply to the comment, just smiled and nodded and asked Bilbo to oblige her in a cup of tea. Bilbo nodded and made himself busy. Once she had received her cup Belladonna remarked, “you and your family are very proud of Milton. In our time here we’ve seen such productivity and energy. My husband admires it so and I’m convinced that is the reason for his choice in Milton. The industry here is quite incredible.”

At this genuine compliment Thorin’s thin, strained smile turned to one of sincerity. “It’s true, I am proud of my city. I would love nothing more than to live out my days here, being profitable or no, than living a life of ease and complacency in the south.”

Thorin had barely finished his sentence before an annoyed snort came from Bilbo’s direction. He turned his head to spot the curly-headed man grimacing in his chair. “You are completely misunderstood about the south, Mister Durin.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Bilbo sat straighter and placed his sharp gaze on Thorin, who felt the urge to squirm beneath them but he forced himself to not give in. He would not give Bilbo the satisfaction. “The south, our former Shire of Helstone in particular, may not be interested in competitive trade it’s true. But there’s not the degree of suffering that I’ve seen in your mills. What is the purpose of it all?”

Thorin looked at him in confusion. “We make cotton.”

“Which no one with any money wishes to wear.”

The market for cotton was still growing, Thorin would admit. But with the price of linen and silk going up and the cheap expense of producing cotton fibers so cost effective the industry was prospected to be extremely profitable. Already there was a boom in certain parts of the world for Milton cotton and Thorin was determined to be part of the action for a good long time. “I would say that you are guilty of misunderstanding Milton.” _And myself, for that matter_ , Thorin added silently. “I realize that you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot here, Mister Baggins. But I assure you that all us masters are not the same. No matter what you may have heard.”

“Heard? I saw with my own eyes how you treat your men.” _Would Stevens’ mistake forever mar my good name in Bilbo’s eyes,_ Thorin lamented. And then he scolded himself for even caring what Bilbo thought. “You treat all men as if they were beneath you,” Bilbo ranted on.

Thorin struggled to keep his tone even. “I absolutely do not.”

“So being harsh with a man for an ill-guided mistake? Have you no mercy?” Bilbo’s brow furrowed and, if it was at all possible, he seemed to deepen his frown. “Just because you were born to privilege does not give you the right to behave so inhumanely with your employees. You have had no serious hardship in your life and I find your behavior unacceptable.”

 _Born to privilege. What a laugh._ “I have to say, Mister Baggins,” Thorin said calmly as he set his teacup aside, “that you know nothing about me and are very unfair to assume my place in the world was always as such and I know something about ‘hardship’.” He clasped his hands together in his lap to keep them from clenching the sides of the new furniture. “Tragedy struck my family when I was very young.” He paused not wanting to continue but he needed Bilbo to know why he deserved more respect than he was receiving from the hotheaded man. “Unsavory circumstances lead to the death of my father and my family was tossed into the street, bankrupt. I was pulled from school and put to work, as was my sister and brother.” At the mention of a brother Bilbo’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion. Thorin elaborated. “We were so poor with our determination to pay off the creditors that when my brother Frerin fell ill we could not afford to doctor him.” His heart clenched in his chest at the mention of the golden-haired boy who died too soon.

“I would say my only good fortune in life was to have a mother who did everything necessary to try and see us through. After Frerin’s death we worked even harder to pull ourselves up from the muck of poverty and now I can afford the life he should have had.” He paused, breathing hard. “I can afford to keep my mother in the comfort that her age requires. I have put my sister in a position to make a good marriage.” He looked directly at Bilbo, whose face now stared back at him, rapt with attention. _He thinks you positively ghastly at your confession, well done Thorin,_ he scolded.

Thorin stood and buttoned his jacket. “I believe I have overstayed my welcome.”

“Never,” Bungo said as he rose to console Thorin. “Forgive my son his brash behavior. Never think you are unwelcome here.”

Thorin nodded his head in understanding and turned once more to Bilbo. “Come, please. Let us bury the past trespasses between us. I wish only for friendship between us.” He held out his hand to Bilbo to grasp but, seeing Bilbo’s horrified expression at the gesture, he pulled back his hand and headed to the door.

Bungo escorted him and insisted that, despite his and Bilbo’s differences he was welcome any time. For the sake of his friendship with his tutor he would call again. Thorin, however, was determined to harden his heart against the cruel opinions of his son. For not the first time he cursed his father’s departure and the state he had left them in that led to the person he became. Perhaps if Thain had never failed them so, perhaps Bilbo might have grown to like him.

But there was no use in speculation. Speculation about anything was a danger too expensive to afford.

 

\~*~/

 

Bungo reentered the parlour with a frown. “Bilbo, son.” He shook his head in dismay. “I saw him offer you his hand. I think you gave him real offense but not taking his hand.”

Bilbo sniffed and went to fill his pipe. “I’m sorry to have caused you offense father but Master Durin angers me so.” He puffed the end of his pipe to get the tobacco to catch and smoke. “I feared that if I took his hand I might crush his bones to dust.” After a minute of stunned silence and a few puffs of his pipe Bilbo spoke again.

“Though, I will admit that I sympathize with his tragic past. I had no idea that he had come from such humble beginnings. I confess that I misspoke.”

“Such a sad story. While an improper topic of discussion for teatime I feel quite sorry for him and his mother.” She touched her lips in sadness. “That poor boy, Frerin. To lose a child so completely…”

A sniffle from his mother caught Bilbo’s attention and all at once he felt rotten for inadvertently bringing Frederick to the forefront of Belladonna’s mind. “Oh mother,” he crooned. He moved from his chair to the couch she occupied and hugged her to him.

She shook her head and pulled back. She did not speak of Frederick but instead she said, “perhaps Thorin’s father died in a workhouse. Oh, the horror of such a fate.”

“I fear,” Bungo interceded, “that the circumstances of his death are much more tragic than that.” Seeing that he had Belladonna and Bilbo’s attention he cleared his throat as he poured a brandy. “I had some dealings with Gandalf Mithrandir a short time ago and during our discussion we talked about Master Durin.” He sat in the chair Bilbo formerly occupied and continued. “He said that Thorin’s father, Thain, used to own the Erebor coal mine sixteen years ago. He entered a speculation with a man and he lost everything in it. Thain, he...he killed himself. To spare himself the disgrace, the shame of having destroyed his business and his family.”

Bilbo was stunned. To think that the cause of Thorin’s hardness had stemmed from such a horrible, unforgivable act from his father. Well, he didn’t know if he could bear the weight of such a fate. He now understood Thorin a bit more and at once felt ashamed of his behavior towards the man.

“I see,” Bilbo said, closing his eyes in shame. “I am truly very sorry, indeed, for assuming he had never had hardships. Clearly I am mistaken.” Bilbo rose and tampered out his pipe. He bent to kiss his mother and nodded to his father. “All this weighs heavily on my mind. I’m afraid it has exhausted me and I must go to bed.”

Without another word he took himself to bed.

For several hours later he could think of nothing but Thorin Durin. His appalling behavior towards his employees angered him. But then his patience with Bilbo when he flung, now completely unfounded, accusations at him made him think of Thorin’s soft side. He mentioned the loss of a brother and he could relate. For all intents and purposes Frederick was dead. Frerin was well and truly dead. But Bilbo still had his father and Thorin had lost his. Such heartache, he knew, could turn a man so cold.

The more he thought of Thorin the more he understood, accepted and finally forgave Thorin his actions. He had properly shamed himself but he had yet to properly apologize to Thorin himself. He resolved that he would make amends. Even if they never got along well in the end Bilbo vowed to wash away the stain of his misconceptions and accept Thorin as civil acquaintance, at the least.

With that decided Bilbo rolled over and tried to put his troubled mind to rest.

 

\~*~/

 

Several weeks after the disastrous tea with the Bagginses a meeting was called.

Bard Bowman and his colleagues came together to ask Bungo for the use of his hall so that they might collaborate together. At first, Bungo was thrilled. The prospect of a discussion like those that happened in Rome or Greece centuries ago, men gathered in halls to discuss the great workings and ideas of their time, excited him. But then when it was revealed that the men had no desire to discuss scholarly ideals he grew nervous. Nevertheless, he assented to their requests and allowed them to gather during his allotted time in his hall. He sat on a bench in the hall and watched as the men from all the mills -Oakenshield, Mirkwood, Laketown, Dale- to talk. He had heard the rumors flying about. About how the men were tired with the way they were treated and that they wanted to organize a strike.

Being a Christian man Bungo could only sympathize. Who didn’t want to be treated fairly, no matter their station? But being a man from the higher class he also didn’t see the use in striking. Workers could be found everywhere and anywhere. The strikers’ positions would be filled and they would find themselves without work and soon without homes or food and they’d have no one to blame but themselves. Bungo was convinced that a strike would hurt them all, not just the workers but the masters too.

What would happen to the masters, the mills, if cotton was not produced on time? What happened to them all when orders were not filled? Debt would pile, respectability and reliability in the industry would collapse. And then they all would be sunk.

But Bungo kept his opinions to himself and decided to stay out of the discussion. It was not for him to tell anyone anything about the state of things when he was neither a mill worker nor an owner. Getting involved would only add further rumors to the mounting list against his family and steal away more of Belladonna’s health. Again he asked himself, did I do right? He touched the letter in his pocket and tried to convince himself again.

Then Bilbo showed up, ostensibly to watch his lecture, as was his occasional wont. He gestured for Bilbo to join him on the bench.

“What’s all this, then,” his son asked.

“Bard asked if they could use this space for a meeting.” He smiled sadly at his hands and added, “I said they could, of course. Who am I to stop people from discussing the politics of today?” Then he gently prodded his frowning son’s ribs and chuckled. “Besides, no one wants to hear me drone on about modern architecture.”

Bilbo laughed uneasily beside him and watched as the last of the men filed into the room.

 

\~*~/

 

The masters watched from the windows across from the public hall. Droves of men filed into the building to join the meeting. They had known that sooner or later this would happen. The necessity of meeting deadlines, contracts, paying debtors had lead to some unfortunate dealings amongst many of the mills. The men were angry, that much was clear.

Thorin scowled. He had not discouraged any of his men from attending but that didn’t mean he had encouraged them in their traitorous activity. If they wished to spend their leisure time plotting their own demise, so be it. It was not his place to judge or scold or punish. His only prerogative was to supply cotton to those who wished for it and to employ those who wanted a job. He thought he paid well enough and saw no reason to stoop to the level some of his associates had of bullying his employees into thinking the same.

“Didn’t you make your displeasure with this meeting perfectly clear,” a sneering voice from behind him said. Thorin turned to eye the unwelcome presence of Thranduil Greenleaf. He frowned at him and moved to watch the game of pool that was taking place instead of the men outside.

“I did but it is not my business to police the actions of my employees in their free time.”

Thranduil sniffed primly over his wineglass and moved to stand beside him. “Indeed.”

“Isn’t that why we’re all here,” Master Laketown offered as he bent over the pool table to take his shot. “To see what we’re up against? To be an overhanging threat to all who oppose the ‘united force of the masters’?”

“United,” Thorin scoff. “Hardly.”

Master Laketown looked up after he took his shot. “What are you implying?”

“You’re not the only one who listens to the gossip.” He took a sip of brandy, holding the master’s gaze. “I hear you’re bending already. Ready to give into your men despite our agreement that we are all in this together. No yielding to outlandish demands. But we would all be in line together so that they would know we were serious and that we kept our words.” He walked over to Master Lakewood and continued. “For my part, I don’t lie to my employees. They expect the truth and I give it to them fairly. I don’t cut my wages to meet demands like many of you have.”

Thorin pointed to the window, towards the meeting taking place across the street. “And yet, I see men of mine out there. They are unhappy with their lot in life. You can’t blame them for being unhappy and you can’t bully them into thinking differently. Men will think and behave as they like.” He turned to speak the the whole room then. “Together we turn out a great profit. We provide for this city. But they are many and they stand to break us all if we let foolishness, and dirty dealings, get the better of us.”

Silence encompassed the room. It was true that more than one of his colleagues had dropped wages when they didn’t need to, had skimped on machinery that had cost them employees because of death or injury, and had more than once paid off a man or two of influence to keep silent about his unhappiness in the mills.

But Thorin would not stoop to their level. If he could convince them to keep their word on this, that they would not raise wages without the money to back them or shorten hours when there were orders to fill, then perhaps he could change things. Maybe he could get them to review the safety standards in the mills so that the men, women and children didn’t have to worry about an untimely death or disfigurement. Maybe he could raise the standard of living once he had paid off his backers. He wanted things to change for the better but all in due time.

 

\~*~/

 

Inside the hall Bard shuffled nervously.

He knew that things were growing to a head. He knew that everyone, master and employee, was clamouring for a bigger piece of the proverbial pie. The masters would not admit that the men worked for shit and that they could afford a better wage. The workers worked long and hard, often dangerously, and what did they have to show for it? Skinny, starving children and fluff in their lungs.

The banter and shouting between the men was reaching a fever pitch and it was time for real discussion to be had. Bard took the lead and stepped up to the podium that Bungo had previously stood on many a Sunday. He cleared his throat and called for order.

“Settle down, lads!” All faces turned towards him and the voices quieted. “There we go, eyes up front! We all get a turn to speak our minds if we work together and wait our turn.”

“Many of you know me, I’m Barb Bowman. I work up at Mirkwood.” He scanned the crowd and say many of his coworkers. “Let’s hear ya, boys!” A great shout from the men of Mirkwood sounded and he smiled. “What about Oakenshield’s?” Another answering shout from many men. The same happened when he mentioned Laketown and Dale mills. He smiled and knew he had their attention.

“We all know why we’re here! We know what we do, how much work we have. But none of us begrudge a bit o’ work do we lads?” The men shouted in agreement and Bard continued. “But despite our hard work it seems that the masters aren’t appreciative. Do they think we can live on nothing?” He threw up his hands, “costs are rising, families are growing, people are getting sick and hungry and what do they do? Drop our wages!”

The men stamped and shouted and pumped their fists. Bard steamed ahead, keeping their attention. “What’s their excuse? ‘Cotton’s expensive’, ‘machinery needs replacin’’, ‘buyers aren’t paying their fair share so you need to tighten your belt’. You’ve heard every reason in the book! Us, tighten belts that have no more holes to tighten with!”

“All the masters say it different, though,” one man piped up. “It’s not enough that they skimp on us? They all tell us different lies!”

Men shouted again, agreeing upon unanimous mistreatment.

“But what’s to stop them from finding more bodies for the machines, eh?” All eyes turned to another man who seemed just as upset as the rest of them. “Does a strike do any good at all? As if we’re not cogs to be replaced when one breaks down.”

A murmur of doubt ran through the hall and Bard moved to gather the control again and stomp it out. “But that is why we must all work together!” He pointed to several men in the room and spoke to each in turn. “Each and every one of us must agree to a fair wage. And then we must stand united when one of our bosses tries to play us for a fool again we will know the truth from each other! None of us work for less than our due!”

The men shouted again in excitement. Some still in doubt and some still in agreement of strike if necessary. But then a small voice from the middle of the crowd spoke out.

“Well that’s all well an’ good, Bard,” the man said. He moved into focus and Bard could clearly see his face. Boucher, his scared neighbor, made himself heard. He looked around the room and said, “I hear many of you shouting brave and eager for a reason to strike. Fine by me, do as you please.” But then he looked at Bard and said, “you make what? Fifteen, sixteen shillin’ a week? With only four mouths to feed you get by.” His lower lip trembled but he spoke on, “but my wife is sick. And I have six children, none of ‘em old enough to work.” He fought to keep tears back, even Bard could see that and he felt sorry for the man and his lot. “What are my family to eat if we strike, huh?” He shouted then, “we couldn’t survive on union strike wage of five shillin’ a week. It’ll kill us all and for what?”

Bard needed the men to keep their resolve. He tried to soothe their fears. “I know your hardships, Boucher.” He held his hands out open to the crowd. “Who here has similar fears?” When a goodly portion of them answered back then he spoke softly once more, “I know that it’s hard. But that’s why we stick together. I’m not saying we turn out now or even a week from now.” He rose in fervor then and said, “but somethin’s gotta give! And if we strike we must stand united! We help each other! That is the only way we win against the masters. By working together!”

The majority of the room shouted in praise of the notion but Bard only had eyes for Boucher. The man stared back at him with a resigned look of doom. From that point on Bard knew that Boucher would be trouble and that he needed a close watch on him. He would not let the progress they all had achieved that day get ruined by one man’s fear, righteous and founded as it may be.

Strike or no strike, unity was the key.

 

\~*~/

 

That evening while Thorin made his way home he was stopped by a figure in the shadows. “Sir,” a soft voice called him and it stilled him. A man walked into view and Thorin’s anger rekindled itself.

“Stevens,” Thorin growled.

“Please sir,” the man groveled. “I have information, valuable information!”

“If you know what’s good for you, you will leave and not come back.”

“But, sir!” Stevens tried to grasp his arm to make him listen. “I can tell you what they’re planning! I can help you stop the strike!”

“I don’t care for your information and I have no care for you!” He pushed the man out into the street, startling people he could not see from around the corner. A yelp sounded and Thorin grew concerned, “who’s there?”

Bungo and Bilbo came into view and Thorin’s heart sank. _Of course it had to be Bilbo who witnessed this._ “It’s only us,” Bungo said politely.

Thorin tried and failed to keep from shouting at Stevens who looked up at him in dismay, “go! Get out of here and don’t let me catch you here again!”

Bungo tried to soothe him but said the exact wrong thing. “Must you be so harsh? Wouldn’t mercy be the more kind approach?”

Thorin inhaled deeply, trying to quiet his anger. He was not angry with the man, nor his son at the moment, but at a man who had put his livelihood and that of hundreds in jeopardy. And he talked of mercy. Sharper than he meant to he said, “please. Do not tell me about my business.”

“He’s right, father,” Bilbo said primly. Thorin looked at him in confusion. _Bilbo agrees with me?_ But then his confusion, and his fleeting softness for Bilbo, melted when Bilbo added with a scowl, “they do things differently here in Milton.” And with that, he took his father’s arm and led the older gentleman away.

Thorin brought a hand to his eyes and forced himself to calm. _So what if Bilbo’s wretched opinion of you stands? It’s no concern of yours and you should be content with your decision._ Resolutely, he pushed all thoughts of Bilbo, and Stevens, out of his mind and stalked off towards the safety and comfort of home.

 

\~*~/

 

The moment Bilbo walked through the door he was on a mission. He was so angry with Thorin, seeing him once again shouting and shoving his former employee around. How could he have possibly thought there was any softness to the man at all? He at once felt absolutely alone. He wrote to his cousin immediately to try and make his feelings known to someone.

_Oh Drogo,_

_I don’t know what to say at this very moment for I am so incensed I can barely put pen to paper. Master Durin has once again shown his savage behaviour, though I will not go into detail so as to spare you the horrid picture, and I don’t know what to do. I had previously found myself in need of apologising for my own misunderstanding and deplorable treatment of a guest and had fully decided to make amends. And then, to see again first hand of the man’s merciless demeanor all thoughts of civility left me and I cannot suffer the thought of apologising now._

_My dear cousin it pains me to remain here. I cannot tell you how alone and isolated I feel here. There’s so much suffering and unkindness around every corner that I fear God has forsaken this place. I believe I have seen hell. And it’s white. It’s snow white._

_Forgive my dour letter and my most unwelcome intrusion to your happiness. Please write back to tell me that there is still loveliness and how Primula fairs. I know your happiness will be increased very soon with your new addition and that thought brings me joy. Take care, fond cousin._

_-Sincerely,_

_Bilbo_


	2. Chapter 2

The summer ended and the months waned from fall to winter. Master Durin kept his lessons with Bungo in the evenings and Bilbo kept mostly from the parlour on those nights. When it couldn’t be avoided, for sometimes Bungo wished Bilbo to join them for this discussion or that, Bilbo contributed little and made himself civil. He and Thorin had never discussed anything more personal than the weather and how their families fared when they met in public. And that suited Bilbo just fine.

When winter slipped slowly into spring Bilbo took more often to walking outside again and enjoying the relatively clean air of the parks. With the spring and the rain brought lovely flowers and the trees shown bright green and it lifted Bilbo’s spirits. Belladonna, however, seemed to slip further and further into depression and Bilbo grew worried. He had commented once to his mother on how he worried for her health, had begged her to visit her sister in London and to see the new baby, her new nephew Frodo, to cheer her. But she would not hear of it, convinced that she was needed by her husband’s side and he never brought it up again.

Instead, fearing for his mother’s health he called upon Misses Durin for a reliable, discreet doctor.

He had seen the look of surprise on the servant’s face when he arrived on their doorstep and knew that his showing up out of the blue was not exactly appropriate. But he didn’t care for gossip anymore, the neighbors had plenty to talk of already, had been talking for months, and one piece more would be of no consequence. He just asked politely if he might meet with the madam of the house and he was shown in without question.

He came face to face with the lady herself and he asked her very plainly and politely if she knew of a respectable doctor. She nodded at once and went to her study to write his information out for Bilbo. Upon her return to the sitting room she left him in she remarked, “you didn’t have to come personally.” She crooked an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “You could have sent a servant.”

Bilbo knew she knew very well that they only had the Gamgees and that they had their hands full with the running of the house and caring for his mother. But he simply said, “I do not wish to alarm my father. I just came personally because having a doctor on retainer is important.” Seeing her still looking at him with undisguised suspicion he added, “it’s just a precaution. Nothing to worry about I assure you.” He hesitated before speaking of his mother but thought it might be best if Misses Durin knew a grain of truth rather than thinking falsely about his family. “My mother has low spirits.”

Misses Durin made a noncommittal sound and handed over the piece of paper and said sarcastically, “not much of that ‘round here, I’m sure.”

Bilbo knew she was talking about the impending strike. News of it had been swirling about for months with no actual movement one way or another by any party. Rather than get into a conversation about it he simply nodded and moved to walk around her. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Without moving or shifting her gaze as he walked by she stated, “you didn’t disturb me.” Bilbo turned to face her and she spoke plainly. “I know you have little care for the industry of Milton but even you must have heard the rumors.” Bilbo nodded and she went on. “You know it’s not just the men of Oakenshield wanting to strike? It’s the whole lot of ‘em and they seek to tear the whole system down.”

Bilbo had not discussed this with anyone and was loathe to admit to anyone, let alone Thorin’s mother, that he was uneducated in the particulars of the impending strike. “What good will that do, though? Are they asking for higher wages?”

“That is what they say.”  Misses Durin walked over to the window to watch the men toiling in the yard below. Bilbo stood just behind her and let her talk. “But the truth is that my son, and myself, have worked hard to put us here above them. We made masters of ourselves and there will always be people in the world who want to tear us down.” She pulled her eyes from the yard and looked openly at Bilbo.

“That is the way of the world, Mister Baggins.” Clearly a dismissal, her comment made him want to leave more than ever. He bid his farewells and made haste to leave the house.

On his way out of the mill grounds he ran into a couple friends of Sigrid, Jenny and Fenny, and he greeted them with a smile.

“Hello there, Bilbo. I see you’ve been visiting the dragon again. She breathing fire at us today?”

Bilbo laughed and shook his head. “Not at all. She was downright pleasant.” Pleasant for her was a lack of scowling and the usual bite to her words. He asked after the girls’ mothers and shared quick pleasantries before he nodded and moved to leave. But then a question entered his mind. If the men meant to strike, what about the women and children? He decided to ask just that. “Are you happy here?”

“Happy?” Jenny and Fenny laughed. Jenny asked indignantly, “would anyone be happy working in a mill?”

Bilbo shrugged, not keen at the idea of trying himself. But then Fenny spoke up, “It’s better ‘ere than at some o’ the others. At least ‘ere I make fifteen shillin’ a week, even if my da makes me give ‘im most of it. But back at Mirkwood my sister only makes five.”

Such a shocking difference in wages. No wonder everyone was up in arms. “And would you join a strike?”

Both girls abruptly looked away and Bilbo suddenly felt a looming presence behind him. He turned to see the mildly amused face of Thorin Durin and felt his cheeks grow warm. _Damn him._

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin had just finished an argument with Master Dale over his dishonesty with his employees. _Honestly, lying to them about even entertaining the idea of wage-raise and then telling them on payday there would be none. Did he want them all to strike?_ He was making his way home to have a bit of a cool down and a lunch when he saw Bilbo Baggins talking with some of his employees. Curious, he made his way over and caught the tail end of their conversation.

“And would you join a strike?”

 _The nerve of him! Asking about my employees’ personal affairs?_ The girls saw their employer approach and clammed up and spoke no more. Bilbo flinched, clearly knowing who was behind him. When he finally turned to face him he saw that Bilbo was at once embarrassed. The idea amused him so much that Thorin couldn’t help the tiny smile that broke out on his face. He kept silent and let Bilbo squirm under his eyes.

Bilbo eventually coughed into his hand and spoke. “I’ve just been to see your mother.”

“Oh?”

“She’s given me the name of a doctor.”

Thorin blinked and his face went serious. “Are you ill?”

Bilbo’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, “no, no, no. Nothing to be worried about, it’s just a precaution.” Thorin nodded and stepped aside and gestured for Bilbo to walk with him. They took a few steps before Bilbo spoke again. “Your mother seems to think I know nothing of Milton or it’s people. That I know nothing of what goes on here.”

 _Rather accusatory of you, Bilbo._ “I’m sure she didn’t mean to put you on the path of talking to and listening to the common, rumorous prattle of the people.”

“I was just curious to know their thoughts,” Bilbo said innocently.

Thorin sniffed. The thoughts of his employees were not his concern. Their private lives, their thoughts, had no place in the mill. But he was an honest man and he didn’t see the harm in allowing people to know the truth of his mill. The fairness with which he ran it. He told Bilbo, “there was a surveyor here, not long ago. Made a big deal of visiting all the mills and asking everyone their wages and the working conditions.”

“Does that anger you? If they answer honestly, I mean.”

“Not at all.” And it was the truth. “I have no secrets about this mill. What I pay, the deals I make, the business of running it is an open book for those who wish to read it.”

“And your employees, do you care what they do in their spare time? How they spend their money?”

Thorin stopped in his tracks, honestly surprised. “Why would that matter to me?”

Bilbo blinked. Thorin’s disinterest had clearly never occurred to him. “Don’t you have an interest? Surely you must as an employer.”

Bilbo was baiting him again, he knew. He wanted to see how he truly felt about his employees, the strikes. He wanted to see Thorin’s true character. Thorin made it a point to show him. “I run an efficient mill. I pay my workers more than the average mill does for their work. I do what I can to keep them safe. If I do this and am able to make a profit and the workers do their jobs and keep to their hours what business is it of mine to dictate their behavior and lives outside of my mill? They’re not my children. They’re not my family so it is not my place.”

He leaned in and whispered, “here in the north we value our independence.” Bilbo stood honestly stunned and Thorin felt a little jolt of mirth touch his belly. He leaned back and said, “I know you fancy me to be this big, overbearing, merciless slave driver. But the fact of the matter is I am an honest employer. And I’ll answer whatever you ask as honestly as I can.”

Bilbo’s eyes flickered to a point behind him and Thorin’s brows knit in confusion. He turned around to see the face of his mother peering out of a window behind him. Not wanting his mother to think they were doing more than friendly chatting, which of course this was not, he bid Bilbo good day and walked off to his door and into his house.

 _Take that you clever thing,_ he chuckled to himself. _How do you like me now?_

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo shook off his shock and made his way out of the mill. He hailed a cab and paid a visit to Sigrid. He knew she wasn’t doing well and knew she would do with a bit of cheering up. Not one to scoff at a good story, even if he was the butt of it, he knew his encounter with Master Durin would be just the thing.

“And she stood there in the window like some big, black crow guarding her nest!” Bilbo laughed as he retold the story. “Like I’d ever be one to settle with Master Durin.”

“Now why wouldn’t you? He’s quite a catch that one,” Sigrid smiled at him from her chair. “Very handsome despite his surly demeanor.”

“There is more to a spouse than aesthetics,” Bilbo countered.

“Aye,” Sigrid agreed. “There’s wealth to consider.” She smiled broadly. “He wins on both accounts.” They laughed together and for a moment things were jolly. Then Sigrid began to cough and it was so much worse than it had been over winter that Bilbo grew concerned. At his look of questioning she shrugged it off and went to pour them each a cup of tea. Bilbo was having none of her misdirection.

“Sigrid, are you really okay? Surely it’s not too bad?”

The girl sighed heavily and handed him his cup before she returned to her seat with a cup of her own. “Fluff in me lungs.” The affirmation of Bilbo’s suspicions set his throat to closing. The idea of such discomfort in such a sweet person was unbearable. “Oh, Sigrid-”

“None o’ that,” Sigrid said sternly. “I’ll have none o’ your pity.” She looked down at her cup and smiled sadly. “Besides, at least I won’t too old and ugly. Leave behind a pretty corpse.”

Bilbo didn’t want to laugh but a small one escaped him anyway as his eyes teared a little. “That’s incredibly morbid,” he chuckled. He took a sip of his tea and asked, “when did it start?”

“When I was young. I was working up at Mirkwood. Me, Tilda and Bain all worked there with da. We needed the money after mum died and there was no one here to look out for us anyway.” She fingered the rim of her cup and said, “when da found out he moved us kids all over to Oakenshield’s. He had a friend there to keep an eye on us.”

Bilbo leaned over and put a hand over Sigrid’s and smiled warmly. “He loves you very much.”

“He does. Much like all fathers and daughters, I suspect. And mothers and sons,” she laughed. “Just like the old crow and Master Durin, and you and your mother. You might have seen it better if you had another brother for your mother to croon over. I see it all the time with Tilda and my dad all the time.”

Bilbo frowned and removed his hand to cradle the cup in his hands. “My mother did have another son.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you had a brother. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because we don’t ever talk about him.”

“That sounds like a story.” When he hesitated she urged him, “come on then. Indulge a dying woman’s wishes?”

Bilbo took a deep breath and told the tale that he had kept inside for years. Frederick had always wanted to go to sea. Belladonna was loathe to let her youngest run away to worlds unknown, so far from home but he insisted. Bungo reasoned that it might be the making of him. He had a decent start in life and he might one day make something of himself. They all cried the day he left home but Bungo and Frederick assured them it was for the best. And then Frederick was placed on a ship with Captain Azog and his fate was sealed. The man beat the children aboard the ship and abused his crewman cruelly. It was inhumane the way he ran his ship. Many of the men aboard wanted to kill him but Frederick convinced them to put the man and his most cruel officers in a boat and let them go. When they pulled into port they tried to explain to the Royal Navy of the horrible conditions, tried to make them see that they had no choice but to cut the Captain loose. But it did no good. The lot of them were branded as traitors. Mutineers. Frederick was named the ringleader and a price was put on his head. The news nearly killed Bilbo’s parents. That was the beginning of Belladonna’s failing health and, Bilbo suspected, the start of Bungo’s doubts of the existence of God. If God was all seeing and doled out justice then where was the justice for Frederick?

“Anyway,” Bilbo continued. “He ran to South America for a few years. But now he’s in Spain. Living in Cadiz.”

“Spain,” Sigrid said breathlessly. “Sounds positively romantic.” Seeing Bilbo’s distress she extended the same gesture of comfort that he had, covering his hand with her own. “He’s very brave, your brother.”

“He is.” Bilbo smiled thinly. “Though, I’d take a more cowardly brother if only it let my mother see him, just once more, before she leaves this world.” He felt tears cloud his eyes and he forced them back. “I fear neither of us shall see Frederick again in this life.”

“Have faith,” Sigrid said, patting his hand before returning it to her cup. “Who knows what may happen.”

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin spent the rest of his afternoon with his mother and sister. His mother hummed to herself over papers while his sister hummed the same tune while she cross stitched. Thorin peeked over his mother’s shoulder to see what she was working on.

“Set yourself to invitations already?”

She looked up at him and asked, “would you rather not hold the dinner this year?”

“No, no,” Thorin assured his mother. “It’s a tradition for us. We might as well do it.” He kissed her forehead to further assure her and walked over to the couch to read his paper. “Spend what you like, invite who you like.” He opened the paper and asked, “who is on the list for this year?”

“The usuals. There’s the Greenleafs’ Thranduil and Legolas, of course. There’s the Dales, the Laketowns, all your boys from the company, the brothers Ur and Ri amongst the rest. All of them of course. And of course the Bagginses.”

Dis spoke up at the mention of the Bagginses. “They should do quite well with the connections at the party. They could do with a bit of society.”

Misses Durin sniffed at that and said, “Mister Bungo Baggins seems like a fine gentleman. A bit too simple for his teaching and background but then who doesn’t enjoy an uncomplicated man? And that dear, Belladonna. With her delicate nerves and her low spirits. She’s quite a character even if she is a bit down.” She scoffed and added, “but that Bilbo. Now he’s one to put on airs. He has no right to them, the way he carries himself. All proud and yet he sits with that girl from the mill as if she were his equal.”

Dis giggled over her work. “And I’ve never seen someone so unaccomplished. What does he do all day? He doesn’t work like his father. Nor does he school himself or practice the arts. You know, he doesn’t even play the piano, Thorin?”

“And how else does Bilbo offend you, Dis?” He scowled over his paper. True, Bilbo annoyed him but he couldn’t abide by their unfair picking at his character. “He’s just as intelligent as accomplished as you. Just because he doesn’t play the piano-”

“Now, Thorin,” his mother interjected. “He said so himself he did not play an instrument. Truth be told, aside from visiting his father’s lectures and our mill and walks in the parks I don’t know what he does. How do you know he is accomplished?”

“Because I’ve spoken much with him while in the presence of his father during my lessons.” He folded his paper and walked over to the table to join them. “I wish you could learn to like him.”

“Whatever for,” Misses Durin asked.

“Because he’s Bungo’s only son and I value Bungo’s friendship greatly.” _And on the off chance that Bilbo and I ever make amends I would like him to call here for pleasure rather than keeping up appearances,_ he thought to himself. Even while Bilbo infuriated him on a regular basis he still intrigued Thorin and he wished constantly that he could break Bilbo’s opinion of him and become friends with the fiery young man.

“Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo,” Dis mocked. “That’s all we ever hear about these days.”

Their mother added, “one would think that you were developing affections for him.”

Thorin’s hands clenched and he swallowed hard. He didn’t want to admit even the tiniest affection he held for Bilbo to his mother and sister, especially when there was none in return on Bilbo’s part. “Well what would you prefer to talk about? Hmm? How about the strike?” When they stayed silent he stalked back to the couch and snapped open the paper and said, “something cheery for a change, if you please.”

 

\~*~/

 

Bungo had let Bard call a meeting once again in his hall on Sunday evening. The men, angry and stressed, gathered in the hall. The room filled with static energy and Bard called them to order.

“Listen lads!” He raised his arms to garner attention. When all eyes were on him he spoke plainly. “It seems that the masters are in agreement with one another. Every man we sent to ask the masters for a raise came back with the same answer. ‘No’!”

The men shouted their fury and Bard motioned for silence again. “It’s time, boys! We strike!”

“Strike!” the crowd cried.

Bard had spoken before with other leaders of the group and they had agreed upon a day. He shared it with the whole of them then. “Friday, ten minutes before five, we shut down the machines. We walk out! And no one, no one! Will start them up again unless they agree to meet us in the middle!”

The crowd went wild, ‘raises’, ‘strike’, ‘stick it to ‘em’ and general noises of agreement and displeasure shook the room. Bard made a fist and punched it to the air. “We all work together! No one buckles! You see a man and his family suffering you lend a hand where you can! The longer we hold out the better chance we have!”

“How long do you think,” a voice shouted from the crowd.

“Two weeks at most,” Bard answered confidently. “They can’t hold out longer than that.”

“But what if they bring in Irishmen,” another asked.

“Then we’ll soak ‘em,” another answered.

When men began to agree Bard tried to dissuade them. “No! Do not stoop to violence! That’s what they want and expect of us. Do you want them to prove to them we’re the animals they think we are?” He glared at the lot of them and said, “use your heads, not your fists!” He punched a fist in the air. “Together, peacefully! We will make the masters bend! We finally have a say!”

The men yelled and jostled, shouting ‘strike’, ‘yeah’, and many other things. But Bard saw a few were nervous, Boucher included, and knew that they had their work cut out for them. But he knew that if they failed this time that they would not get another chance. Everyone would be disheartened and then all would be lost.

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin had heard from one of the other masters. The strike date was set and planned. He told his mother and she grimaced.

“The ungratefulness of it all,” she whispered harshly.

“Our debt to the bank is nearly £400. We barely scrape even and they think-”

“They think they can get more than their due by knocking their big, stupid heads together and walkin’ out,” his mother finished. She asked him plainly, “what about men from Ireland.”

Thorin crinkled his nose at the idea. It was ruthless and petty, bringing in outside workers when he had a perfectly capable staff that refused to work. “I can bring them in. The cost will be great but I’d rather not give into their unreasonable demands.”

She nodded, understanding entirely his feelings on the matter. She sighed and looked at the RSVP cards on the table and said, “if that’s the way things are going then I’m sorry for having the expense of a dinner this year. Do you think we should cancel?”

Thorin shook his head. No need to add more salt to his wounded pride. “We carry on as before. No more, no less.” He rose from his chair and kissed her forehead. “We’ll come through okay, we’ve always come through despite circumstance.” He clenched his jaw and hoped it was true.

 

\~*~/

 

The last of the masters to be asked for a final time to raise wages gave his answer. Thorin Durin said no to all requests. It had been expected.

The strike moved ahead as planned.

The week moved on and Friday came. At ten before the quitting hour men and women stopped their machines, put on their coats, and calmly left their mills and went home. The masters and overseers watched them go and no one made a move to stop them. It was now a battle of wills between the workers and the masters. And both sides were confident that the other would give in first.

It troubled Bilbo greatly. If no one in the city worked then what would happen to the lot of them? He shuddered to think. Instead he wrote to Drogo of the state of things.

 

_Dear cousin,_

_I’m so glad to hear Frodo is growing healthy and strong. I do wish to see those dark curls you say he sports and pinch his baby soft cheeks. Perhaps I will visit soon. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to reply but we’ve been so busy here. Which is strange because no one else in the city seems to be working. The strike has begun and it has lasted a week so far. No smoke or fluff coming from any of the mills, no people milling about the great yards. It’s like a cemetery, all solemn and silent._

_Give Primula my best and kiss Frodo’s head for me and tell him his big cousin, or uncle if he would prefer that title, will come to visit him soon. Just as soon as mother is feeling better. Keep yourself well, Drogo, and write to me soon._

_-Your faithful kinsman,_

_Bilbo_

 

\~*~/

 

“Four weeks!” Boucher was hysterical. He shouted at Bard in his own home, his children cowering in their room, afraid of his fury. “You said two at most and it’s been twice that!” He began to cry and he dropped to his knees in front of Bard. “My wife cries endlessly! My children starve! We’ll all be dead before we get our five percent!”

Bard reached for the coins in his pocket and slammed them down onto the table. “Don’t you dare, Boucher!” He pointed to the coins and shouted, “I said I would take care of you! Am I not?”

Boucher scooped the shillings into his hand, his allotted five shillings union pay plus two more from Bard’s own pocket. His lips curled cruelly and he said coldly, “you’ve more compassion for a pack o’ hungry dogs than you do for the lot of us.” He stalked out and slammed the door, causing everyone in the house to flinch reflexively.

Bard sighed, sagging with the weight of guilt. He had not expected the strike to last this long. Leave it to the masters to continually surprise them with their stubborn actions. He saw Bain tear up from the fear and Tilda and Sigrid hug themselves for comfort. He opened his arms to his children and said, “come here, you lot.”

His brood rushed to his side and he enveloped his children in his arms. They were all a bit old to be being coddled but he knew they were hungry and scared, Sigrid the most scared of all because she knew she was dying. He was scared for them all.

A gentle knock on the door made them all jump. Bard pushed his children behind him, ushering them to their room and motioned for them to be silent, fearing it to be another enraged worker. When he opened the door to find Bilbo he sagged in relief. “Oh, it’s only you.”

“Only me, indeed,” Bilbo said lightly. He walked in at Bard’s invitation and saw that they all were tense. “Everything alright?”

“Boucher’s just been here.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, nodding. “I just left a basket at his place. I hoped to see his children had a decent meal at least once this week.”

Bard nodded. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

Bilbo shook his head, “I cannot sit by and watch the suffering knowing that I will not grow hungry. I help where I can.”

Sigrid asked the question they all had been asking themselves. “What’s to stop him from going back to work? Or any o’ the other desperate ones, for that matter?”

Bard simply answered. “We’ll be persuasive.”

The strike and everything surrounding it confused Bilbo to no end. It didn’t seem to do any good for either side to just sit out and not talk about their differences and try to come to an agreement. He brought the point up by asking, “in the south where I come from, what do you suppose would happen if the workers went of strike? There’d be no one to sow the seeds or reap the harvest.”

“Then the farmers would have to give up their farms.”

“But then there would be no money to pay for next year’s crops or wages. Nothing to sell at market. Do you think that all the masters really choose to keep wages low to spite you all?” He tried to say it gently, “perhaps they cannot give you more even if they wish to?”

Bard grew instantly enraged, “you know nothing!” He blew breath out through his nose and tried to calm himself. “You’re a foreigner. You do not know how the masters work.”

Bilbo put his hands up in defeat. “I’m sure I’m quite ignorant. I will not argue. But are they all that bad?” _Thorin,_ Bilbo thought, wanting his opinion to be true and yet wishing to be proven wrong, unsure of what he’d like to hear. “Is Master Durin really that bad?”

Bard stood and grabbed his jacket. “He’s a bulldog. Stubborn as all hell.”

Bilbo chuckled, “looks a bit better than a bulldog, I’d say.”

Sigrid giggled and added, “I’m sure he smells better ‘an one too.” She laughed lively and then began to cough hard. She sucked in breath weakly, wheezing and her cheeks reddened with the strain and lack of oxygen.

“Sigrid,” Bard said, coming to her aside and taking her hand. “My dear girl.”

When she regained her breath she shook her head, “I’m fine, da.” She kissed his cheek. “I have Bilbo and Tilda and Bain here to keep me company. Worry not. Go make your rounds.”

“Are you sure?” She nodded and he reluctantly stood. “If you’re sure.”

“I’ll keep an eye til you get back,” Bilbo offered. “We’ll just sit and gossip and share some tea. No strain at all, I promise.”

The comfort of having Bilbo with Sigrid calmed him some and he left. He hoped with every fiber of his being that the strike would end soon. His daughter didn’t have much time left and he wanted to be with her. She had said this strike would be the death of her before and he strived to prove her wrong.

 

\~*~/

 

The day of the party finally came.

Many of Thorin’s friends showed, as did all of the masters. Of course Bungo and Bilbo came even if Belladonna was feeling ill and couldn’t attend. Thorin played the host well, mingling with the guests, checking with the preparations of food, making sure no one’s glass went empty. But he was preoccupied.

Bilbo stood by himself for much of the early evening. His father had struck up a conversation with the Greenleafs’ and had inadvertently ignored his son and had not introduced Bilbo to his conversation partners. But Bilbo himself looked distracted, as if something heavy weighed on his heart. He found himself landing eyes on Bilbo often during the cocktail hour until finally the young man lifted his eyes to him and he was caught. His heart beat faster and his palm sweat, knowing full well he was staring. _What must he think of me_ , he questioned himself.

“Who is that handsome young man,” Master Laketown asked him and he forced himself to tear his eyes away from Bilbo to acknowledge his guest.

“May I introduce you?” He gestured for the man to follow him and together the men walked over to greet Bilbo.

“Mister Bilbo Baggins, may I introduce Master Laketown.” The both bowed their heads in acknowledgement but when Bilbo did not offer a greeting the master at Thorin’s side found another place to be. Thorin was about to leave Bilbo when the young man raised his hand for Thorin to shake.

“I am pleased to see you this evening, Mister Durin.”

Thorin took his hand and shook it, holding it in his own a breath longer than necessary. “I am glad you could make it, even if your mother was not well.” Bilbo frowned and slipped his hand from Thorin’s. “Yes, she so wished to be here.” Then he dipped his head and said, “excuse me,” and made his escape. Thorin watched him go and was sad for it. He wanted to know what was truly troubling him and comfort him. But it was foolish to feel so and he quelled the emotions of concern inside him and moved on. Soon enough Gandalf sidled up to Bilbo and Thorin could hear them talking.

“Now, what’s a fine young man such as yourself doing all by yourself,” Gandalf asked jovially. “Let’s see who we may introduce you to and brighten your spirits.”

Thorin did not see him for the rest of the cocktail hour, not until dinner was called and they were all seated to enjoy the meal. The first course was served without a hitch. The second came along as well and then conversation inevitably turned towards the strike.

Gandalf spoke up, “this is quite a lovely affair. I’m sure the jovial respite is well needed during a time of turmoil, such as this.” He took a sip of wine as if he hadn’t just made a jab of expense at the Durins. He smiled though, which led Thorin to believe he didn’t do it out of malice.

“We get by just fine.” _Nevermind we shall be going broke with the Irishmen we’re carting in. Lord knows what kind of chaos that will bring in the name of productivity._ “Just like we always do.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Gandalf replied.

“What do you think of it all, Bilbo,” his sister asked. Thorin’s heart sped up. He should have guessed Dis might try to embarrass Bilbo, embarrass her own brother, for the sake of her fun. He wanted to defend him against his sister but it was not his place. He had no choice but to let him fend for himself.

“Surely, you don’t sympathize with the strikers,” his mother added.

 _Great, the pair of them are at it,_ he lamented.

“Well, yes and no.” Bilbo gulped and hid his nervousness behind his wine glass for a moment. “I mean, I empathize with both sides. It’s important to see all points of view.”

“One of the ladies in town said they saw you bringing a basket to Princeton,” Dis said, trying for innocent conversation and failing.

Bilbo blinked at her, silent for a moment, his mouth open. Then he recollected himself and said, “I have a dear friend in Princeton. Sigrid Bowman.”

“Bowman,” Laketown repeated. Then he looked at Thranduil and said, “isn’t he one of yours?”

“Indeed, he is.” Thranduil took a sip of wine and added. “From what I gather, he’s one of the ring leaders of this whole mess.”

“I’m surprised you keep such company Mister Baggins,” Misses Durin remarked.

“I’m surprised Bard Bowman received such charities, the proud man he is,” Thranduil said smugly over his glass. Others chuckled as they resumed their dinner.

“Well, he doesn’t. Not for his own. The basket was for a man who has six starving children.”

“Do you know how children get fed, Mister Baggins,” Thranduil asked. When Bilbo didn’t reply he said, “by men going back to work.” “

You do them no kindness by providing for them, Mister Baggins,” Thorin added. He himself ached to see children starving. But business was an emotionless endeavor and he needed to be strong in the face of it. No time to cry over the poor children when their parents could resolve the problem by returning to work. He didn’t want to see Bilbo outed and harassed but he had to speak out, to save face. “One would say you are prolonging their suffering by helping them. Prolonging the strike. That helps no one.”

Bilbo frowned at him and sharply replied, “and I suppose you find feeding a starving baby is cruel?”

“These are lovely table settings, Misses Durin,” Bungo said too loudly, drawing the attention from Thorin and Bilbo. “I insist, the finest I’ve ever seen.”

“Why, thank you. These came direct from London. I’m glad you admire fine taste,” she answered.

The whole table pointedly ignored the discussion that flashed between Bilbo and Thorin previously. the tension bubbled and it was palpable. The conversation for the rest of the evening was purposefully civil, no one wanting to step on any more toes. When the dinner was over and the men and women separated for their evening activities Thorin pulled Gandalf aside.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t play anymore of your games at my dinner table.”

“My dear, Thorin.” Gandalf soothed, “I meant no offense, nor did I seek create tension.” He packed a pipe and offered it to Thorin to smoke from first. “I simply was making conversation.”

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo was still smarting from his display at dinner. He suspected that the Durin family had no care for him and it was shown clear as day with that one question. _What do you think of it all?_ So innocent it seemed and he should have just kept it simple. Should have just agreed with the rest of them that the strikers were unfounded in their anger. But he couldn’t. It seems he was cursed with great compassion for those in need and a distinct lack of self preservation.

Gandalf had decided to follow his father and Bilbo home for further company after the dinner. While Bilbo was tired and not in the mood to entertain his father welcomed their guest and together they set off for home once the dinner festivities were finished. They chose to walk due to the fineness of the weather that evening. It had been some time since Bilbo indulged in an evening stroll so he accompanied the older men, just a step behind them, while they made their way home.

He kept to his thoughts and left his father and Gandalf to chatter about “the good old days” of Oxford. But when they rounded the corner that led up to their door Bilbo couldn’t help but notice that a man was walking out their front door. Immediately alarmed, Bilbo picked up his pace and beat his father and Gandalf to the door. Bungo had noticed not long after Bilbo that something was amiss and was a second behind Bilbo as they entered the house.

“Belladonna,” Bungo called out into the hall. “Is everything alright?”

She gave no answer and Bilbo went in search of the one person who might have a clue. He found her in the kitchen fixing his mother’s usual evening tea. “Bella,” Bilbo said full of concern.

“Oh, Mister Bilbo, what can I do you for?”

“Who was that man?” Bella averted his eyes and busied herself to fix a tray.

“What man?”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes and donned a tone that brokered no nonsense. “The man who we just saw leaving the house? Who is he?”

Bella made a dismissive motion with her hands. “Oh, that’s just the doctor. Makin’ his usual visit.”

Bilbo’s mouth hung open in shock. “What are you talking about?” Bella remained silent and Bilbo raised his voice. “Bella! What do you mean his ‘usual visit’?”

Bella sighed and hung her head and knew she was caught between a rock in a hard place. “I promised not to say anything, young master.”

Bilbo stepped into the room, careful not to sound too angry. “Just tell me what’s going on, Bella.” Scared now for his mother he asked softly, “please?”

Bella looked up at him with tears standing in her eyes and he knew that the news wouldn’t be good. “He’s been comin’ round for a little over a month now. Once a week while you and your father are out.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Her health is failing her. She’s so tired and weak, sir.” Bella shook her head and Bilbo trembled. “He doesn’t know what to do for her so he comes round once a week to see how she fares but I know it’s no good.” She bit her lip and added with a sad whisper, “she’s slippin’ from us.”

Bilbo clutched his heart at the admission from their faithful servant. He couldn’t stand there and watch Bella cry. He needed to see his mother immediately. “I have to go,” was all he said and then he was off up the stairs from the kitchen, nearly running to the parlour where his mother spent her evenings.

When he topped the stairs he slowed. He didn’t want to alarm her, didn’t want to scare her. And if she was sleeping he didn’t want to wake her. He peeked from the doorway and saw her in her chair before the fire. Despite the warmth of the evening she was wrapped in a blanket and her feet stretched out to the flames. She looked asleep and suddenly Bilbo’s eyes watered. The shock hadn’t truly set in, the realization that his mother was dying, until he saw here there. So still and peaceful as if she really might be dead. But a quick glance at her chest rising and falling assured him that she was still with them.

And yet, the dread of death lingered over him.

She stirred, as if sensing his presence. Her eyes blinked open and his chest relaxed minutely to see her move. Belladonna’s head turned to see him in the door and she called to him. “Bilbo, dear. You’re back so soon? Did you enjoy your evening.” When he didn’t answer, couldn’t answer for fear that tears would choke his voice she crinkled her eyes in concern. “My boy, whatever is the matter.”

He stepped into the room and she saw the tears upon his cheeks. “Ah,” she breathed. “So now you know.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“Bella swore she wouldn’t tell.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“We saw a man leave the house.” Bilbo worried his fingers and admitted, “I kind of bullied it out of Bella.”

Belladonna nodded. “Hamfast doesn’t know.” She snorted bitterly. “Not even your father knows.”

“Do you wish to tell him?” She shook her head and stretched her hand out to him to take. Bilbo took it swiftly but gently and knelt at her side. “No point in worrying him a moment before we have to. There’s still time and I can’t stand to see him miserable.”

Bilo had nothing to say to that. He just knelt there, stroking her hand, lending his strength and hoping it was enough.

“You know, it’s funny,” she said absentmindedly. “The Shire used to be so stifling when I was a child. So small, so removed. But then I grew up. Met your father, had you and Frederick, led a simple life. And I was happy.” She sighed sadly. “And now I shall never see it again.” She sucked in a pained breath and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “Nor shall I ever see Frederick again! Oh, Bilbo, it hurts! I love you both so much and to know that Frederick is out there alone and hunted for the rest of his days,” she broke off, sobbing hysterically. “I cannot bear it, I cannot!”

At that moment Bella came bustling through the doorway with her teatray. Bilbo stood, completely terrified for his mother. How could her life be reduced to this? A once proud, happy woman, reduced to a blubbering, scared, sick woman calling for her children. It hurt him to see it. While he watched Bella came in and tended to his mother.

“There, there Mistress. You’ll see, it’ll be alright in the end.” She patted Belladonna’s hand and tried to rub warmth into it. “Please, you know what the doctor said. Don’t strain yourself. Here,” she pulled a stopper from a flask that was nestled among other things on the tray. She poured an amber liquid into his mother’s teacup and held it beneath Belladonna’s nose. “Drink it down, you’ll calm yourself.”

Belladonna complied, gulping down the liquid, coughing with her haste. Her hyperventilating stopped but she still shook with grief. Bilbo couldn’t watch anymore. He ran back down to the kitchen to wait for Bella. She had some explaining to do.

He waited for half an hour before Bella showed again in the kitchen. “Oh, young master. You’re still up?”

“Why, Bella,” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

She pursed her lips and sat at a chair in front of him. “Because we didn’t want you to worry. There’s so much going on, what with the strikes and all, that you and your father have had your hands full. Your mother didn’t want to add to your grief.”

“She is dying,” he said, voice strained. “She’s dying and she thinks to save me from grief? Did she not think we would mourn her passing?”

“That’s not it and you know it.” Bella reached across the table between them and took his hand. “Your mother loves you. She knows she will be missed. But she also knows there’s nothing to be done for her.”

“How do we know that? We could get another doctor,” Bilbo offered.

“And what do you think he’ll say?” Bella smiled weakly. “That’s Doctor Donaldson, the doctor that Misses Durin herself uses. Best in Milton.” Frowning she added, “there’s no one finer outside of London and London is too far for a doctor to come a’callin’ every week.”

Bilbo sagged with the weight of his sorrow. He had suspected his mother was worsening. But she put on a good face and forced a smile and so Bilbo had hoped foolishly that she would regain her strength. But it seemed that she would leave them and the knowledge that she would die pained, full of regret and sadness, pained him to the core.

Bella spoke then. “You know, I love your mother.” Bilbo looked at her and she eyed him back and said, “not like you do, certainly. I’m no daughter of hers. But I’ve always loved her well.” She laughed mirthlessly and she said, “when Hamfast and I were first married, you know, we tried for children. It seemed that we were not to have children. And I was devastated. Five years of trying with no result and it makes you think you’re less of a woman for not being able to bear, you know?” Bilbo nodded and Bella spoke on, taking no heed of him. “And then your mother hired us, herself newly married at the time. Beautiful, she was back then. And I was so nervous when I first met her, nearly brained myself on the stairs when I came to live at the parsonage, trippin’ over my nervous feet.” Her laugh was genuine, then. Locked in memory.

“And then you came along as expected,” she said suddenly sad. “I was reminded again of my failures and I could hardly stand to touch you. She found me one day, lookin’ into your crib while you slept. And I was crying.” She smiled up at Bilbo. “She knew of my troubles. She knew my reasons for being reluctant around you. But when she saw me cry she knew how hurt I truly was. And you know what she did?” Bilbo shook his head, remaining silent. “She dried my tears with her own handkerchief. So kind, she was. Told me that there would be children in my life even I was not to be a mother myself.” She laughed to herself, “you’d think I’d have been furious at that. But I wasn’t. It was true, too. After that it was easier to tend to you. And Frederick, too, when he came along.”

“I had no idea,” Bilbo confessed.

“And why would you, dear,” she said with a weak smile. But then she shook herself from her reverie and said, “it’s late, love. Best get yourself to bed. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, distracted by the new information in his head. He was no longer angry with her, he decided. He knew now how well she loved his mother and knew that she thought keeping quiet did them all good.

“Thank you, for finally telling me,” he offered.

She waved off the comment as if it were nothing, “t’was no kindness. Keeping it from you or tellin’ you. Either way it hurts,” she replied.

He understood completely. But rather than comment he just kissed her cheek softly and took himself to his room.

Laying alone in his bed it was easy to give over to grief. He cried silently, just letting the tears slip over and run into his pillow. He would keep this to himself, not even writing to Drogo about their affairs. It wouldn’t be fair to Bungo if all of Milton and London knew the state of his wife before he did.

And yet he wanted so badly to be comforted by someone who was in a position to do so. But, alas, Bella was their servant. He could not be coddled by her anymore like he was when he was a babe. And he had no spouse or beloved of his own. He would not dare bring this to Sigrid to further her troubled thoughts.

And then he had an idea. He thought of Frederick and of his mother and began to formulate a plan. He would try to do right by his mother while he could. He just hoped he could orchestrate his plan in time.

The next morning he rose early to write a letter. Then he dressed himself and took his breakfast. He kissed his mother and took himself to the post stop. There he dropped a letter that was bound for Cadiz and prayed for its swift arrival.

After his own personal errand he took himself towards Oakenshield mills. He passed no one in the streets and grew more and more anxious with every step. Even while the strike continued the streets still bustled with activity; people buying and selling, carriages rumbling by, beggars on corners. But the closer he got to the streets, the quieter they became. He picked up his pace, knowing that something was brewing.

He reached the gates of the Oakenshield grounds and was let in hastily. He was very pointedly told to get inside and stay there by the grizzled gatekeeper and he heeded the warning. He mounted the steps that led to the Durins’ residence and rung the bell. Shifting from foot to foot, he waited until the door was answered by a maid and he was allowed inside. He asked to see Mrs. Durin and was led to her straight away.

“I’m sorry to bother you at such a time,” Bilbo said. Misses Durin’s face showed shock, anger and confusion. He guessed at its reason for being was his presence. He knew at once it was silly for him to be there. But he had rumors that they had owned a waterbed and he wished to use it to the benefit of his mother.

“My mother is not doing well and I heard rumors that you were in possession of a waterbed,” he said quickly.

Misses Durin nodded and opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by shouting in the courtyard. “It’s started,” she said absentmindedly.

“What’s started,” Bilbo asked, now quite afraid.

“The riots,” she answered smoothly. At Bilbo’s confused look she laughed mirthlessly. “They heard about the Irishmen we’ve hired. The fools are angry. And now they wish to pick a fight,” she led him to the window where they could both see the men at the gate below. They were kicking and jumping onto the gate and shouting “Durin!”, “Damn, Irish!”, “dirty masters”, among other things.

Bilbo understood immediately. “They’re going to go after the workers.”

“Yes, they will,” Misses Durin said without concern. As if the hired Irishmen were not men as well.

And then a loud crack sounded and the gate sprung open. Men and women flooded into the yard, the shouting louder and more fierce in their victory over the gate. They shouted Thorin’s name, cursing him and urging him to come out.

Dis started to panic behind them, breathing heavily and sinking into the couch. “Oh, mama! They’re going to tear us apart!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dis,” she snapped at her daughter.

And then Thorin appeared.

 

\~*~/

 

He saw the mob coming up the street from the window in his office. He moved fast, nearly running, out of the building. To try and protect the men he had hired from Ireland, he locked the doors of the mill to keep them inside. He would not see the men come to harm because of his own actions.

With that done he ran to his own home, unseen, as the crowd drew closer. He made it into his home just as the gates burst open and the mob flowed into the yard. He came into the parlour to find Dis sprawled on the couch in shock. “Try to keep her calm,” he said to a maid and then his eyes lifted to the window.

His breath left him when he saw his mother and Bilbo standing together. _Why was he here? What could possibly have moved him to come here in such dire times?_ He crossed the room to draw his mother away. “Watch over her,” he whispered to his mother and then went to deal with Bilbo.

“Mister Baggins, I fear you’ve visited in less than pleasant circumstances.”

“I can see, that!” Bilbo was breathless, obviously frightened.

“Fear not,” Thorin said. “The soldiers will make them see reason.” He knew that with the ruckus the mob produced, the soldiers would come and dispense with the rioters.

“Reason? What kind of reason?” Then realization dawned on Bilbo and he shook his head. “No, no, do you think beating them into submission will help?” He pressed a hand into his forehead, still shaking his head. “You need to stop them before they break into the mill to terrorize those poor Irishmen! Go, speak to them as equals!”

Bilbo pointed to the men who had already started pounding on the mill doors. “They’re angry! They’re hungry and their children are starving! They’re not thinking clearly! Go speak to them and go save your Irishmen!”

Thorin could admit he didn’t want to see anyone, rioter or no, get hurt. Least of all his family or his innocent Irishmen. _Or Bilbo_ , his mind supplied. Or Bilbo. At Bilbo’s pleas he ran down to a lower balcony and swung open the doors. He could hear Bilbo’s voice from above him just before he stepped out, “take care, Master Durin!”

Bilbo’s concern strengthened his resolved and he stepped out to face them.

At his appearance someone shouted “there he is!” and the whole mob turned to rush the balcony. While it was high enough that they couldn’t climb up to grab at him and pull him to the ground it was still overwhelming; the sheer mass of malcontents was almost too much. Thorin had lost his words.

And then Bilbo rushed past him and clutched the railings and he was shouting. “Stop! Please, stop this!”

Thorin was left breathless. Bilbo was so brave, facing the mob on his behalf and he didn’t know what to think.

“Just please,” Bilbo spoke softly then. The crowd stopped yelling and listened to what Bilbo had to say. “He is one man and you are many! Think of what you’re doing! Think of your children, your wives and husbands!” He swallowed thickly and carried on. “The soldiers are coming but you can go in peace. If you go now in peace you will have an answer-”

“Will you send the Irish home,” said a nameless voice from the depths of the crowd.

Thorin shouted in return, “never!”

When Thorin delivered his decree chaos broke out again. They forgot about Bilbo and his cried for peace and began to scream abuse at Thorin once more. He could see them growing more violent and he moved to pull Bilbo from danger.

“You must get inside! This does no good!” Bilbo struggled and asked for him to be released, convinced that talking could still do good. “It’s not safe! I’ll remove you from here myself,” Thorin shouted. He grabbed Bilbo around the middle to drag him off the balcony.

“Thorin,” Bilbo shouted. “They won’t hurt me! You have to trust me!”

The man struggled and Thorin jerked him so that their faces were brought close. He wanted to try and yell sense into him. Even with the madness of the courtyard below, being so close to Bilbo’s lips rendered him speechless. So close. Distracted.

And then Bilbo suddenly went limp in his arms. The weight of him dragged Thorin down to his knees. There was blood at Bilbo’s temple and Thorin’s heart lurched. _He can’t be dead,_ he shouted in his head. His eyes scanned the balcony and saw a bloodied rock. There would be no peace. Leaving Bilbo to lie on the cold stone he turned to the crowd and shouted.

“Are you satisfied? Look what you animals have done!” His eyes returned to the lax body of Bilbo and tried to quell the unease inside him. “It’s me you want! Come on, tear me apart, kill me if that’s what you want!” He knew he was talking madness then. But he didn’t care. Bilbo was hurt and he was angry and couldn’t find reason any longer. He spread his arms in offering, daring more rocks to rain upon them.

Then the shrill piercing of the captain’s whistle sounded and men on horseback rushed into the yard. The soldiers had come and the mob ran screaming into the streets. People who couldn’t move fast enough were struck down with clubs and arrested mercilessly. Many escaped but it was enough to make an example. They would not riot again.

The strike was broken.

 

\~*~/

 

“Put him there, Thorin,”  Misses Durin said calmly as Thorin carried Bilbo’s still body into the parlour. She watched as he laid Bilbo down on the couch and inspected the bloodied spot on his head once more.

“He’ll need a doctor, mother,” he said. His voice was small. She was unused to hearing him so unnerved, not since he was a boy, it pained her.

“I’ll see to it, Thorin.” She touched his shoulder where he knelt, hand still poised above Bilbo’s head, wanting to touch. She could see how affected he was by Bilbo. She knew she had lost him. “Go, go settle your affairs,” she coaxed softly. “I’ll see to everything.”

He nodded, not looking at her, and rose and left.

“Jane,” Misses Durin barked. At once the skittish maid showed herself in front of the lady. Not removing her eyes from the small body in front of her she ordered, “go fetch Doctor Donaldson at once, if you please.”

“But mum,” the girl squeaked.

Not used to being second guessed Misses Durin whipped around to see a girl full of fright. “But,” she supplied, questioning.

“The streets are mad, out there,” she said plainly. “The soldiers are out there, too. They won’t know one commoner from the next.”

“And you fear for your own head, is that it?” The girl nodded slowly and Misses Durin had to smile at that. The girl was brave enough to admit she was more frightened of the streets than she was of her. At that she decided to go herself. “Well, then. Get my coat and hat. I shall fetch him myself.”

Jane’s eyes went wide and she spoke quickly, “but it’s not safe out there for you!”

“Jane,” Misses Durin said sharply. “If your fear is to get struck down because the soldiers will not know you from one of the rioters then someone must go in your place. Mister Baggins needs a doctor and the soldiers will recognize me. And the rioters wouldn’t dare harm me.” Her gaze turned cold. To think, they would have murdered her son given half a chance and the man who now was unconscious on her couch was the only reason he still lived. Thorin had not been stoned to death on his own property. He was alive. “My coat, Jane.”

The girl dashed off to get it. In a minute she was bundled and out the door. She strode purposefully out her door and through the yard. People parted in her wake. None stopped her. None harmed her. She admitted to herself that she had a small fear of a stray rock or hand hitting her and taking her down but none such thing occurred and she made it to Doctor Donaldson’s unharmed.

When she informed him of what happened he collected his medical bag at once and followed her back out to the streets. By the time they left the doctor’s home the streets were cleared some and the carriages were back out. They hailed a cab and returned to the mill.

They returned to the parlour just as Bilbo began to wake. She could hear Dis talking to him as if he were an invalid, slow and loud, “don’t worry, sir. Mama’s gone to the doctor. Just lie still, there.”

Then Bilbo grumbled, “I don’t need a doctor.”

“Let me be the judge of that, please,” Doctor Donaldson said softly. Bilbo’s eyes looked heavy with pain but he nodded and let the doctor examine him. Mrs. Durin watched from the doorway as the doctor tilted Bilbo’s head this way and that, checked his eyes and temperature. Satisfied with what he saw, the doctor stood and spoke to the room. “Looks worse than it is. Mister Baggins will be just fine, give a day’s rest.”

Not looking at anyone in particular Bilbo stated, “I must go home.”

“That’s absurd,” Misses Durin said, unable to contain her shock. “The rioters are still out there. You must sit and rest awhile.”

Then Bilbo turned worried eyes upon her and it stilled her. “Please, Miss. My mother...she’s not well.” He pleaded with her. “She must not get excited and if she hears what happened,” he touched his mouth with his fingertips. His worry and anxiety were real and she couldn’t bare to look at it. Still, she knew Thorin cared for him for whatever reason and she tried again to make Bilbo see reason on his behalf.

“Doctor, surely you can see he is in no position to move,” she tried.

“Mister Baggins is in no danger from the bump he took, I assure you. And I think he should do as he sees best.” Then he turned to Bilbo and said, “if you wish to go home I will take you there myself.” He assured Misses Durin, “I’ll take him in my carriage to be sure he gets there safely.”

Defeated Misses Durin nodded and the matter was settled.

She showed both Bilbo and Doctor Donaldson out, Bilbo murmuring his thanks for their help and the doctor assuring her that they would be fine. As soon as they had vacated Dis sank into the couch like a lead weight in water.

“God, I can’t imagine what would have become of us,” she quailed.

“Hush,” Misses Durin said, lacking comfort in her voice. Her mind still reeling with what she had seen.

_He saved my son. My last son. My dear boy._

She had seen how Bilbo had clung to Thorin when her son tried to pull him from harm. Too close, too tight. Too much emotion when speaking of Thorin to the crowd. She was convinced that Bilbo cared as Thorin did and resigned herself to it.

Thorin returned an hour after Bilbo went away and promptly inquired after him.

“Where is Bilbo?”

“He’s gone home,” she supplied cooly. She looked at him and saw disappointment in his eyes.

“Gone home? That’s not possible.”

“I assure you it is.” She went to pour him a glass of water to settle his nerves. “It was all done very proper I assure you.”

“But,” he said, unbelieving. “He was hurt. Someone nearly bashed his head in with a rock!”

“I fetched the doctor myself!” She didn’t mean to snap at him but she couldn’t contain her disapproval for the whole situation. But it was not her business whom her son chose to care for. She raised him to find his own counsel, even if he often chose to seek her own. She would have to learn to deal. “I went to the doctor myself and he assured us he was fine. Doctor Donaldson took him home in his carriage and I’m sure he is quite well in his own home.”

Dis chose that moment to speak and it was infuriating. “Thorin, I swear! The whole thing was terrifying!” She fanned herself, milking the situation. “I was sure I would faint from fright!”

“You were in no danger,” Thorin said calmly.

“I thought they would break the door down and murder us all,” Dis insisted.

“Don’t be absurd,” both Thorin and Misses Durin said in unison. _Thank god, one of my surviving children has any sense,_ she thought.

“I must inquire after him,” Thorin stated.

Panic gripped Misses Durin and she spat, “why?” 

Thorin looked at her as if she were mad. She knew that he had to go. Decorum dictated he do so. But not tonight. “Don’t go over there, Thorin.” He looked at her in defiance and she said, pleadingly, “please. I’m asking you, for now, not to go.”

Thorin nodded curtly and stormed out.

Several hours later, long into the evening, Thorin returned, trying to walk quietly. He saw her sitting in her chair embroidering their linens. He sighed softly and crossed over to her. “I thought you might be asleep.”

“Why would I be asleep,” she asked quietly. “Too much excitement for me to sleep now.” She ran through a few more stitches in the pattern; the Durin crest, the only proud leftover left to them after her husband’s untimely departure. “Where’ve you been?”

“Walking.” No other explanation.

“Just walking?” She suspected but she needed to know.

Thorin huffed, annoyed. “I did as you asked. I did not call upon the Bagginses tonight. But you know I must, yes?”

She nodded, not lifting her eyes from her work. “Especially after today, I’ll say you have no choice.”

Thorin blinked and knelt beside her. “What do you mean?”

“You think I don’t know,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She did know. “I can see how you look at him. How you looked at him when he was unconscious on the couch.” She stopped her work and she looked into her son’s eyes. “I saw the way he looked at you, spoke to you, clung to you today.” She cupped Thorin’s cheek and said with as much warmth as she could muster. “He saved you.”

Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise. Why any son or daughter thought that they could keep a secret from their mother was beyond her. She could never do it with her own mother and Thorin would never be able to either. “You knew,” he asked.

“Aye,” she patted his cheek and returned her hand to her work. “And I know what you’re going to ask him, too.”

Thorin sighed and covered his eyes with his hand, shaking his head. “I do not know if he truly feels the same for me.”

“How could he not,” she said, not daring to remove her eyes from the needle in her hand. “He’s shown his care for you for all the world to see. No use hiding it from you, now.” Thorin was speechless beside her and she continued on with her work. A moment of silence and she added, “you know, he’s a spunky man. A brave man, at that. I think I could learn to like him for that.” She saw him kneel in her periphery. “I’ll have to change our linens.” She held it out for Thorin to inspect and Thorin ran his finger along the delicate stitchwork. “It’ll soon say Durin & Baggins.” She smiled sadly. “Not just Durin, any longer.”

Thorin kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he said softly.

She simply nodded and kept her fingers and eyes on her work. “Don’t mind me anymore tonight, dear boy. I’ll be off to bed soon.”

She paid him no more heed and eventually he rose and left her. The smallest of tears slipped from beneath her eye, unasked for and unwanted. She had lost her boy at last.

 

\~*~/

 

The trip home was a haze to Bilbo. He replayed the events of the day. The gates breaking, the people screaming, Thorin grasping him. And then it all went blank. But one thing stayed clear in his mind; he was attracted to Thorin.

He knew it from the moment he sent him to talk to the men. From the moment he stepped outside to face the mob he came face to face for his feelings. And then their faces brought so unbearably close before the rock struck him. It was disorienting, the sudden realization.

Thorin. A man from such horrible circumstances, built up to be a great man. A man who was stern and yet honest. Hard and yet patient. A man who had done nothing but try to show Bilbo that he cared. As it turned out not just for his employees and for his family but for Bilbo, too.

 _It’s not safe! I’ll remove you from here, myself!_ And then his arms came around Bilbo’s middle and he had stiffened at the touch. His own arms flung themselves around Thorin’s shoulders as he tried to persuade Thorin to let him be, that he could help. And for a split second their faces were close enough to kiss and then his world went black.

When he woke all he wanted was to run. Run from his feelings, from the Durins, from the unpleasantness in his temple. He was so confused with his own inner turmoil and full of concern over his mother’s welfare that he was almost inconsolable.

When they finally reached his own Bilbo almost forgot to thank the doctor before rushing off inside. His mother heard him come in and called out for him. “Bilbo, is that you?”

He couldn’t let her see him like this. Dusty from the ground, head bruised from the rock, waistcoat stained with his blood. “I’ll be up in just a moment, mother.” He searched for an excuse. “I need to wash. The streets were very dusty today.”

Safely ensconced in his room Bilbo finally broke. He panicked.

How could he truly have fallen for Thorin? Was the man really so disagreeable? Bilbo turned over in his head, over and over while he washed his face and changed his clothes, the man’s faults. But then his traitorous heart supplied excuses for him that were always acceptable. Oh, what was he to do?

He spent the evening with his mother and tried not to think. He read to her by the fire, ate the evening meal with her, and never let her see the side of his face that had been bruised by the rock. When his father returned home they discussed the riots. Bungo’s eyes questioned the bruise on his face, for he had seen it accidentally while Bilbo moved to cover his mother’s lap with a blanket. Bilbo shook his head and motioned for him to stay quiet. Bungo nodded. He would explain later. But, for now, for the sake of her health, Belladonna would be kept in the dark.

Then Hamfast came poking his nose in the parlour. “Pardon me,” he said quietly. “But there’s a girl at the door askin’ after Bilbo. I told her to leave but she’s cryin’ and very upset. Said her name was Tilda.”

“I’ll be down in a moment,” Bilbo said. He told his parents he would be back soon and grabbed his coat and mete Tilda out on the stoop. “What is it, Tilda?”

“I’m so sorry, Bilbo. But Sigrid’s so ill, and da’s away and I didn’t know what else to do!”

“Shh,” Bilbo hugged her to him briefly before leading them down the steps to get a carriage. “We’ll get there soon. Calm yourself.”

The whole way there they were silent, too scared of the what ifs. He wouldn’t let himself think that Sigrid had died while he wasn’t there, while her sister and father weren’t there to say goodbye. But luckily they got there and she was still alive.

Bain ran to Bilbo and flung his arms around his middle. “Bilbo,” he cried.

“Shh, Bain,” he soothed the boy’s hair. “Let’s go and see her, then shall we?”

He walked to Sigrid’s room and saw her on the bed gasping. He rushed to her side and rubbed her back as she coughed and wheezed. “There, there, love.” He moved his hands in circles on her back. “Calm down, you won’t do yourself any good by panicking.”

He breathed in and out deeply and said, “like me, like this,” and motioned for her to try and regulate it. Eventually the coughing stopped and she was able to concentrate. In and out, irregularly at first. Bilbo just kept his hand running circles on her back with one hand and held her hand in his other. “That’s it,” he crooned. “Good girl.”

After several long minutes her breathing evened out. But then she began to cry and she buried her face in Bilbo’s shoulder. Not used to such displays, Bilbo stiffened. But he knew she was scared so he did the only right thing; closed his arms around her and hugged her close. “Come now,” he said softly. “Be still, you’ll get yourself worked up again.”

“I couldn’t breathe,” she cried. She pulled her face out of his shoulder and stared at him wild-eyed. “I knew then, what it was like to die! I couldn’t breathe!”

“I know,” Bilbo pulled her head down again and rocked her. “I know, you scared me, Sig.”

Together they sat, Sigrid weeping, knowing her end was near. Bilbo cried silently, holding her close. Late into the evening, long after Sigrid had exhausted herself from lack of oxygen and crying, Bard came home. Bilbo had stayed to keep an eye on the two younger children and to tell Bard what he feared.

He pulled Bard aside and said, “she doesn’t have long. You know that, right?”

“Of course, I know,” he said harshly, staring angrily at Bilbo as if it was all his fault. But then his face crumbled and he covered his eyes with his hands. “My poor girl is slippin’ and there’s nothing I can do for her.”

Bilbo didn’t know what to say. He put a hand on Bard’s shoulder and said, “call for me anytime. Please. I’m here for you, Bard.” Bard nodded and Bilbo left, not wanting to distress the man further.

Sigrid had provided a distraction from Thorin and as he went back home alone he could think of nothing else. He had become so tired, emotionally and physically, that his thoughts were now unhelpful. He was so upset, angry and sad were too small for what he was feeling. He prayed for clarity. For peace. He went to bed that night drained of thought, having every thought and emotion wrung out of him continuously throughout the day and on the ride home. When he finally achieved sleep it was dreamless.

The next morning he woke later than he meant, still reeling from the day before. He had barely had time to wash and dress before Bella came for him.

“Mister Bilbo,” she said carefully. “Master Durin is here to see you.” Bilbo nodded and said, “I’ll be down in a moment. Would you mind getting me some coffee, Bella?”

“Course not, sir. Won’t be but a moment.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo sighed and straightened his waistcoat and slung his jacket over his shoulders. Checking himself one last time in the mirror, he tugged one honeyed curl over his bruise. Presentable, he went to receive Thorin.

Even as he descended the steps to the receiving room he still hadn’t come to terms with his feelings. He was so contradictory with himself, _-disagreeable, kind, compassionate, fiery, angry, loving, harsh,-_ and thoughts of Sigrid made him sour when he finally laid eyes upon Thorin.

Thorin’s eyes landed on him and they were soft, open. It made Bilbo’s heart lurch in answer but he stamped the feeling down. It was unfair. He hadn’t had time to consider anything about his feelings and here he was, the master himself, come to see him. Bilbo was full of turmoil.

“Mister Baggins,” Thorin sighed. “How are you?”

Bilbo nodded curtly. “I am well.” He smirked, lacking joy, “alive anyways.”

“I am glad to know it.” He could see Thorin’s hands tremble before he locked them behind his back. _Thorin is nervous, but why?_ “I want to thank you. For yesterday.”

Bilbo shook his head, “you’ve nothing to thank me for.” He shrugged and gave the man a small smile. “I would have done the same for anyone.”

“What?” Thorin sounded hurt. “You can’t mean that?”

“Well, I did put you in harm’s way, didn’t I?” He shook his head and looked at his own hand. “My silly notion of you talking peace to them. Trying to reason with them.”

“You saved me, Bilbo.”

 _Bilbo._ His name spoken from his lips were a dagger in Bilbo’s heart. He wanted to lean into it. But he was so unsure of everything he refused to acknowledge it. “You need not thank me. It was my duty as a Christian.” He looked at Thorin, saw the man was distressed and he softened it with, “and as a friend.”

“A friend,” Thorin sighed. The man walked over to him, eyes watching Bilbo for signs of retreat. He raised his hand once, looking like he wanted to take Bilbo’s hand in his own. But then he checked himself and clenched it to his side. “Mister Baggins I...I’m not sure what to say. I have been trying to formulate a speech all morning but now that I am here before you I find that words escape me.” Thorin regained his courage and took Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo let him, unsure of where Thorin was going with his speech. “I wish...I wish to tell you of my affections for you.”

“Please,” Bilbo said, wide-eyed and afraid. Afraid of his feelings for Thorin and Thorin’s in return. “Please stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said, confused.

This was Henry all over again, but with more at stake to lose. And with reciprocated feelings. _What are you doing,_ he screamed at himself. _You’re making a mistake! Let him talk! You love him, for God’s sake, let yourself feel it in return!_

“Please, don’t continue in that manner. It’s…” he grasped for an excuse. So many excuses these days. “It’s not the way of a gentleman.” _Why, oh why, couldn’t he have spared you one more day to think? You’re panicking and you’re letting love slip by,_ his heart was screaming.

Thorin scoffed, hurt and now upset. “A gentleman. I know very well that you never thought me a gentleman.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo offered softly. “I know not what to say.”

“Neither do I, to be quite frank. I open my heart to you,” he said, breathlessly, “because I love you.” He closed his eyes and turned his gaze from Bilbo. “And you find it ungentlemanly of me.”

“How could you love me,” Bilbo asked, tears now standing in his eyes. “You think only of profit, of reputation.” Now his mouth was running away with him and he couldn’t stop it. He hadn’t meant a word of it but he couldn’t control his hurtful words, fear gripping him and making his stupid. “You think to save me from my shame, my family’s shame to save your reputation from yesterday,” their hasty embrace fresh in his mind, “and you think that because you are rich that you can possess me!”

“I do not wish to possess you,” Thorin shouted back. “I wish to marry you because I love you! You infuriate me beyond belief but I still love you for who you are!” He spoke softly then, broken, “I love you,” he repeated. “Does that mean nothing to you? Do you think that because I am a businessman that I have no heart?”

Bilbo shook his head, “no, no. It’s not that. It’s just...this is all so new for me.” The truth. There. Then thinking of Henry he let slip, “I have not learned how to refuse-”

“There are others,” Thorin asked. Pain flooded his eyes and Bilbo wished that he could lock his mouth shut. He had not meant to mention Henry.

“No-”

“This happens to you so often, does it? Having to refuse the affections of others?” Thorin was clearly angry, hurt evident in his words. “Well, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you with my sentiments. I’ll not intrude upon you again.”

With that he was out the door before Bilbo could stop him. His legs refused to hold him any longer and Bilbo dropped into a chair behind him. Tears stood in his eyes. As usual, he had handled things poorly and now he had hurt Thorin. He knew, now that Thorin left, never to call upon him again. And, most painfully, that he loved the man fully. And he had thrown it away because he was confused, upset, and stubborn as a mule.

Bella appeared as if from nowhere to jar him from his thoughts“Your coffee, Mister Bilbo.” He drank without tasting. Numb to the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Thorin left the Bagginses in despair.

How could he have been so blind? How could he think that Bilbo held any affection for him. _A good Christian. A friend. Right._ Bilbo thought nothing of him, had always thought the worst and had tried to soften the blow. He didn’t know why Bilbo saved him from the mob but it wasn’t because of love and he was a fool.

He walked home, unseeing, until he came to rest behind his mother’s chair, his mother doing her stitchwork. “Oh, you’re home so soon.”

“Yes,” he said sharply.

“You see the mill is going again.”

He had almost missed the whirring of the machinery in the air. He noticed when he was walking in the grounds but it barely registered. Everything that wasn’t Bilbo barely registered. “Yes.”

“What are we to do with the Irish, then?”

“We send them home.” He said it quickly and without emotion. He had none left. “We see to it that they are paid for the time they spent here, give them a meal and send them on their way. I suspect I will soon have many of my old men clamouring for a job.”

Misses Durin scoffed. “It would serve them right if we kept the Irish. Show the men who’s boss.”

Thorin paid the comment no heed. He had no desire to be excessively cruel to his misguided employees. He stepped around the chair to face her. “For what it’s worth, I was right, mother.” Her eyebrows quirked in questioning and he filled her in. “I was right. Bilbo Baggins will not have me.” Her eyes softened on him and his knees buckled beneath him. He felt so ashamed. Kneeling in front of his mother, hurt with rejection, tears in his eyes as if he were a babe again. “No one loves me.” He laid his head in her lap and he let her stroke his hair. “No one but you.”

She picked up his head in her hands and made him look at her. “A mother’s love is everlasting. A mother loves you until her last breath but a young man’s.” She shook her head and tsked. “That is fleeting, like mist in the morning.” She hugged him to her.

“I’m not good enough for him,” Thorin said, full of despair. He closed his eyes, knowing tears were coming freely now. 

“Hush, now,” his mother scolded. “You are a good man. And a good son. More the fool, him, for rejecting you.” She let him go when he went to stand. He turned his back to her. And then she said, “I hate him.”

Shocked he turned around and saw her unfeeling, thinking of Bilbo. “I tried not to hate him but I thought he would make you happy and so I stayed silent. But now he’s gone and hurt you, rejected you. And your pain is mine, Thorin.”

“No,” he shook his head. He didn’t need his mother’s sympathy, even if he had just cried in her lap, he didn’t need this. This was not a comfort. “If you wish to comfort me, mother, never say his name again.” He stared her down and made it very clear, “we will not speak of him again.”

“You won’t hear a complaint from me,” she assured him.

Thorin nodded and strode out of the room. He would go to work. Work would take Bilbo Baggins from his mind.

 

\~*~/

 

Later that morning, after the disaster of a meeting with Master Durin, Gandalf came by to visit. Just after he arrived a messenger came by with a parcel. Inside was a letter to Bilbo’s mother and a pick of fresh fruit.

“Oh, dear,” Belladonna gasped as she looked up the brightness of the grapes and plums that were nestled in a small bowl. The note had said that Thorin had heard of her poor health and wished her a swift recovery. He sent his regards and his prayers. “This is quite unexpected,” Belladonna cooed, popping a small grape into her mouth.

“He thinks of you fondly, my dear,” Bungo said, smiling.

Bilbo knew that the fruit was meant to have been the first of many gifts back and forth between engaged parties. Thorin had planned for his acceptance and it truly hurt Bilbo to think that he could have had love at his feet at that very moment. And yet…

“You’ll have to call upon them later, Bilbo.” That pulled Bilbo out of his reverie.

“What?”

“To ask upon Master Durin’s mother. It’s only polite,” she said, smiling over another grape.

Bilbo shrugged and replied, “I’m sure a letter would do just as well, mother.”

He kept silent about the event from the morning. No need to excite her further. He did not want to see her upset.

“I saw Master Durin this morning on my way here,” Gandalf said. “He looked to be in such a state that he didn’t notice me calling to him to greet him.” The older man sipped his tea and added, “I actually thought he was coming from here since he was in the area.”

Bilbo couldn’t take it anymore. He excused himself and left the room. He could hear his father and Gandalf talking when he departed and so he stood and waited a moment, curious.

“Do you ever think there was anything between your son and Master Durin,” Gandalf asked innocently.

“God, no!” Bungo’s voice was full of surprise. “I mean, Thorin might have a fondness for Bilbo. But Bilbo has never shown an ounce of caring towards him. I do hope that Thorin hasn’t gotten his hopes up, pining for my son.”

Unable to bear it, Bilbo tore himself away to the solitude of his room.

 

\~*~/

 

“How could you even think I would hide you here?” Bard was furious. Boucher, the man who had thrown the rock at Bilbo, his own daughter’s friend and a gentleman who had no part in the riots. He wanted Bard to hide him from the law.

“Please,” the man cowered. “My wife-”

“Would be better off without you, you dog!” He chased him around his table trying to get at the pathetic man.

“Dad, stop!” Sigrid cried from her bed. Coughing. But Bard paid her no mind, his anger was too strong.

“We was starving! Six weeks and we were starving!”

“I was taking care of you,” Bard countered. He finally got a hold of the man, fisting his hands in Boucher’s coat. “I kept my bloody word and you had to lead the pack to violence! How could you!”

The man started to cry and Bard let him go, disgusted. “You’re disgusting. Pathetic.” He pushed the man towards his door and shouted, “get out! I’ll tell them where you are! Get out and don’t come back, you hear me?”

Sigrid started coughing again and Bard went to her side to hold her as Boucher fled. Bard knew he shouldn’t have shouted, shouldn’t have excited her. But his temper took control and he couldn’t help it. He held his girl until her coughing stopped, dried her tears. He wished for God to help her, take away her pain. Take him in her place. But who knew if God was even listening in Milton? Bard sure didn’t.

 

\~*~/

 

It was some days after Bilbo’s encounter with Thorin when he was faced with him once more. He had gone for his daily morning walk through the parks and was just heading home through town when he heard a voice calling for him from across the street, “Bilbo! Bilbo, lad!”

He looked up to see Gandalf, smiling and waving, an unrecognized gentleman and young lady. And lastly, Master Durin. Uneasy, Bilbo crossed the street and shook hands with Gandalf. “Morning, lad. Don’t you look fine, this afternoon?” Bilbo nodded and the older man introduced the two unknowns to him; a Mister Latimer and his daughter Anne.

“Where were you off to, Bilbo,” Gandalf asked.

“Oh, no where,” he replied.

Gandalf chuckled and said, “never you mind then. Keep your secrets. Everyone must have their own. Isn’t that right, Thorin,” Gandalf winked at the Master and the man scowled.

“I don't know anything about secrets.” He tipped his hat to Gandalf and bid him, and only him, good day, ignoring Bilbo completely.

The Latimers also said their farewells and Bilbo sighed. He asked Gandalf to no play games with him and to keep his nose out of his affairs. Gandalf agreed, good naturedly and promised to keep out. After that he walked Bilbo home. When Bilbo arrived he saw his father was home much earlier than usual.

“Father,” he said shyly, “what’re you doing home so soon?”

“Well, it appears that one of my students has canceled his lessons.” Bungo’s face was sad and he held a piece of paper in his hand. “I looked forward to discussing Utopia with Master Durin but he’s just written ahead saying that he will not be able to make this evening’s lesson either.”

Bilbo frowned and knew the reason behind the sudden cancellation. “I’m sure he’s just preoccupied with the aftermath of the riot. Surely he will come around again once everything has gone back to normal.”

Bungo’s lip twitched in the smallest hint of a small and said quietly, “I’m sure you’re right.” Then he noticed Bilbo riffling through the mail and asked, “were you expecting a letter?”

“No,” he said quickly. But then he recovered and realized he needed to tell his father sooner or later. “Well, actually….yes.” He licked his lips and he confessed. “I wrote to Frederick.”

Bungo sank into his chair and closed his eyes. “I see.” Then he looked at Bilbo and searched his eyes. “Do...do you think that he needed to come very soon.” Bilbo nodded, wordlessly, and Bungo’s face crumbled. He had not wanted to admit that his wife was slipping more and more but he finally acknowledged it. His wife was on borrowed time.

“Is the danger really so great,” Bilbo asked, trying to sound hopeful. “It was so long ago, surely they cannot still be hunting him?”

Bungo shook his head. “No, dear Bilbo. The Navy does not forget transgressions so easily. There’s probably a ship out there, roaming the waters, searching for him at this very moment. The Navy spares no expense.”

Bilbo swallowed thickly. Dread filled his stomach. “But, here in Milton, no one knows us so very well as they did in Helstone.” He touched his father’s shoulder gently. “Perhaps no one will notice. Maybe no one here will know of the bounty on Frederick?”

“One can only hope, dear one.” He patted Bilbo’s hand.

Then doubt trickled into his thoughts again. “I hope that my writing hasn’t summoned him back only to receive a court martial. He’ll be hanged for sure even though he is innocent. That would kill mother for sure.” He covered his mouth to stifle a sob. “If only I hadn’t written at all-”

“No,” Bungo soothed. “You wrote from the heart. For your mother. That takes courage. Far more than I ever had since I myself have not written to tell Fred of his mother’s demise.” Bungo sighed, “he deserves to know. To say goodbye.”

Later in the day Bilbo tried to write to Drogo. To tell him about everything. So much had happened. But he couldn’t. None of what he had to say could be put to paper. He needed to talk with Sigrid. She alone would understand and keep quiet. Would take it to her grave, he thought grimly.

He grabbed his coat and stormed out on a mission. He snagged a carriage to Princeton and knocked on the Bowmans’ door. When Tilda answered he said so quickly that he did not notice the state of her at first. “I’ve come to talk to Sig-” then the blotchy, red eyes of Tilda stilled him and he asked. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, Bilbo,” Tilda answered, choking back tears. She let Bilbo in and didn’t say a word. But she didn’t have to. He already knew what had happened.

There she laid, face lax like in sleep. Eyes closed and peaceful. She was so beautiful, too young to lay still like that. Too young to die. Bilbo’s eyes sprang anew with tears for his friend and he felt Bain and Tilda at his side, keeping vigil over their sister. “Oh, Sig,” Bilbo whispered. He never got a chance to say goodbye.

The door opened again and Bard entered. All eyes turned to him and he knew immediately what had happened. He shook his head and whispered, “no.” He rushed to his daughter’s bedside and touched her cold hands. “No, no, my poor girl.” He cried and cursed God above. It was unnatural he said, that he should outlive his eldest daughter.

Bilbo clutched Tilda to him and said gently, “there’s no more pain for her anymore, Bard. She’s free.”

“Wish I could say the same for me.”

Bilbo didn’t try to comfort him. Nothing could comfort a parent after the death of a child. Instead he said he would return promptly and he went to fetch his father to give Sigrid her last rights. Give her soul the peace she deserved. Bungo came as he was bid and performed his duty. Afterwards, they sat at the table to have a drink with Bard while Tilda and Bain went in search of the undertaker to come for Sigrid.

“My Sigrid deserved better than the lot she got,” Bard lamented into his cup.

“Most souls do,” Bungo replied.

“She said that this strike would kill her. But it’s only because of men like Boucher! Weak, sniveling men…”

“You’re so strong willed, Bard. To last a strike six weeks long is a testament to that.” Bilbo tried to comfort him and laid a hand over his. “Not many men are.”

“Well, he’ll get what’s comin’ to him.” Bilbo looked at him with questioning eyes. “Men of trade stick together,” he explained. “He broke the strike. He brought it on himself. No one will look at him or speak to him. He’s as dead to us as poor Sigrid.”

“And you say the masters are cruel,” Bilbo said, astonished.

“Aye, they are.” Bard nodded and took a sip of his drink. “I’ll tell you, lad. This, the strike, being in a union. Its like being in a war. With war comes crime. But standing by, doin’ nothin’. That’s the real crime.”

They had nothing more to say to each other. No words could balm the sting of loss in all of them. So Bilbo and Bungo took their leave of the grieving family. And in the carriage, on their way home, Bilbo clung to his father and cried for his friend.

 

\~*~/

 

A couple short weeks after Sigrid’s death Bilbo found himself puttering around the house. He couldn’t seem to find the energy to do more than read or take solitary strolls through the park near his home. Aside from the Bowmans, Bilbo had not made many acquaintances in Milton and he found that he was very much alone.

One morning while he reshelved the books he had taken to his room to read Bella tried to stir him. “Look here, young master. Doesn’t the Mistress look well today?” Bilbo smiled at them both. Indeed, she had looked better. More alert with some small color in her cheeks. “She’s done a full two inches of needlework and read her post.” Bella smiled widely, full of pride at Belladonna’s small achievement.

“They’re all from Drogo. He writes to me and implores me to let you come to visit.” She held out the letter for Bilbo to see. “He says the exposition is due to be open soon in London and it promises to be very exciting.” Belladonna looked at the letter, rereading it and smiling. “Bears and Oliphaunts.” She chuckled. “Can you imagine, Bilbo? Oliphaunts! And there are to be many displays of modern inventions and fashions from around the world. You should go.”

“Oh mother,” Bilbo soothed. “I could never leave you. Not when you’re…” _dying, not while you’re dying,_ he didn’t say. “Not until you’re feeling better.”

“Oh but I am, I promise you.” She beckoned for his had and he gave it to her willingly. “Please say you’ll go. It’ll be a wonderful experience. You could even bring me something back and I can look forward to lovely presents and amazing stories of worlds away from here.”

Bilbo smiled softly and said. “If it means that much to you then of course I will go.”

Belladonna smiled and patted his hand. He stood to finish straightening the shelves and then her sad voice stilled him again. “You’ve written to Frederick, haven’t you?” Bilbo’s heart stuttered in his chest. He didn’t want her to know that he had asked for Frederick to come with all haste to her bedside. Didn’t want to disappoint her if he did not come or, at the very least, write back out of concern for his safety. Did not want to alert her to the looming danger of capture if he were to not make it to them safely. Bilbo nodded wordlessly and Belladonna frowned.

“I know not which I am more afraid of,” she confessed. “The thought of never having both my sons at my side again or the thought that he should be caught and hung.” Her hand fluttered at her breast, her nerves ratcheting up again. “I pray that God will find the right of it. The way that things should be. If I am to see my youngest son again before I reach heaven then it is God’s will.”

“And if he is found,” Bilbo ventured hesitantly.

“Then that is God’s will too,” Belladonna said solemnly.

 

\~*~/

 

After the conversation with Belladonna about the exposition Bilbo had no choice but to go. It seemed to lighten his mother’s heart that he should not be so cooped up, surrounded by constant reminders of sorrow. “You’re young,” she had said. “No need for you to feel the heaviness of life just yet.”

And so a week later Bilbo had packed his bags and was set on a train to London. He confessed to his mother before he left that the prospect of seeing his dear cousin again had made him happier than he had been in weeks. He spent most of his time on the train reading or napping. But in no time he had disembarked from the train and into the waiting arms of Drogo.

“Bilbo!” Drogo wrapped his cousin in a crushing hug and Bilbo nearly wept with the affection and love pouring out from him.

“Oh, Drogo. It is so good to see you.”

Together they went back to Drogo’s home and it was there that he reacquainted himself with Primula and got to meet his smiling little cousin, Frodo. He held the cooing babe in his arms and saw for himself just how happy and perfect the child was. So pink his skin was that it contrasted beautifully with the unruly mop of curly black hair atop his head.

“So much hair for one so young,” Bilbo had remarked, smiling.

“Aye,” Drogo said fondly. “My dear wife lent her beauty to him the day he was born.”

Primula chuckled at him and kissed him. “My husband has a tendency to wax poetic about those he’s fond of, does he not?”

Bilbo laughed softly, trying not to disturb the sleeping child in his arms. “So I have seen.”

They spent a full two days helping Bilbo settle in and making plans to see the exhibition in London. It would take several days to see it in its entirety and they were eager to begin. There was a whole menagerie of exotic animals, halls of antiques and relics from other countries and their royalty, savages from distant lands and demonstrations of the latest electronic machinery. It was truly extraordinary and it made Bilbo’s head swim. And then the couple told him of their desire to have Henry Lennox accompany them on at least one of their days at the exhibition and Bilbo’s mouth went dry. Bilbo nodded his assent to their wishes, despite his discomfort. He just hoped that Mister Lennox had gotten over Bilbo’s refusal in the many months of their separation.

The first day of the exhibition they had decided to visit the menagerie. There were these large cats called lions with beautiful collars of fur, tigers with amazing stripes along their flanks, bears with gaping, toothy maws. And of course there were Oliphaunts. Massive and grey with giant protruding tusks, they were truly impressive. Among those large beasts, there were cages full of colorful birds and tanks of bizarre looking fish. The whole experience was so splendid and Bilbo found himself smiling more often than not.

The next day they found themselves walking the halls of antiquity from worlds away and admiring the vastness of thrones, urns and jewels on loan for the show. The sparkling of such artwork, art of many kinds, made Bilbo gape in awe. And paintings! Paintings that were some of the finest he had ever seen! Having never been to a proper art museum before, the experience was almost too much. He lost himself in one painting of a meadow that reminded him so much of Helstone that it hurt.

Then Mister Lennox joined them and his smile faltered. Mister Lennox intended to accompany them to a demonstration of the electric cotton sorting machines like the ones employed in the mills of Milton. Bilbo had seen them in action only the one time but while they watched the demonstration he familiarized himself with the whirring, remember vaguely the movement of hundreds of machines moving at once. This one machine did not create a lot of fluff on it’s own, nor much noise. So it paled in comparison to the spectacle that was Oakenshield Mills. But still, Drogo and Henry were greatly enamored with the mechanics.

Afterward they talked about the prospect of cotton.

“You know,” Drogo mused, “maybe I was too quick to demonize cotton. It seems as though there was a great profit to be made!” Then he smiled at Henry and joked, “maybe we should open up a mill of our own? What say you?”

Mister Lennox frowned minutely and replied quietly, “I should think that it’s a bit too ruthless a venture for you, my friend. Requires more energy than you possess, I think.”

Drogo laughed and patted him on the back, “perhaps you’re right.”

Then Mister Lennox added, none too kindly in Bilbo’s direction, “we don’t need such machinery, anyway. Not in London. Nor do we suffer the harshness of the Northern climate. Isn’t that so, Mister Baggins? You being the expert of the environment among us.”

Bilbo’s face remained impassive at the dig against him and his family and he answered politely. “It’s true. The air is not so clean in Milton as is it is in London.” Then he turned on his heel and went to eye some of the pieces on display a few feet away, eager to put some distance between them.

“Don’t worry,” Drogo whispered to Henry, so soft Bilbo almost couldn’t hear it. “Bilbo’s always been strong willed. It’s nothing against you, I’m sure.”

Bilbo walked a few steps ahead of his party and let his eyes wander over the crowd. And then, impossibly, a voice in the crowd spoke and it was one he recognized. Turning his head sharply in the direction of the voice he followed it and walked to a group of men and women surrounding the man to whom the voice belonged.

There he was, Master Durin, sharing the same exhibition hall as Bilbo, talking of his experience in the cotton industry.

“I can assure you that it is a worthy endeavor for anyone with a strong constitution. Very rewarding if one is hardworking and honest and knows how to deal with men in his employ.”

Then a man spoke up. “But I heard that there was a strike not long ago. Production down, supply upset.”

Thorin nodded and he said, “regrettably that is a hazard in any industry these day. There was one in London not long ago with a textile factory. Though, it did not last as long as ours, I’ll grant.”

“Any way we can stop rioting and striking,” another asked

“Not in our lifetime I should think,” Thorin replied. Then Thorin spotted him in the crowd and his brow furrowed in recognition. Bilbo felt his cheek warm. “Just ask Mister Baggins here,” he pointed in his direction and all eyes turned to him. “He knows much of the goings-on in Milton.” He scowled while no one was looking at him. “Knows the sufferings of us masters.”

The reference to Bilbo’s refusal was evident only to him and shame coiled in Bilbo’s stomach. Oh, how he ached for the man he had shunned so stupidly. Then Thorin added most hurtfully, “he knows how we grind our workers to their brink and push their limits to make a profit.” He said it with a smile, sarcastically and got polite laughs from the crowd in response.

Bilbo raised his chin in indignation. “You have me quite wrong, sir. I think nothing of the sort. I fear you know nothing of my feelings on the matter. Master Durin does not know me at all” He nodded his head in dismissal and walked away, hating every rotten moment between them.

Thorin followed him and touched his shoulder, stilling him. “I presumed to know you once,” he said softly, full of hurt. “Am I really so wrong?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, to try and fix some of the damage he had caused. But before he could a shrill voice called out to them. “Thorin! Brother! Oh, and Mister Baggins as well.” Dis had reared her ugly head and, as usual, ruined an opportunity of bonding between the two men. Miss Anne Latimer was with her as well and they could not be ignored. They both men donned tight smiles and greeted her.

Bilbo bowed in greeting and said, “I’m happy to see you’ve finally made it to London.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s a lovely town. Much more agreeable to me than Milton, I’m sure. But mama only let me come because Thorin was coming. That and, of course Miss Latimer was also coming and mama approves of her highly.” The young woman smiled and they shared polite greetings. Dis prattled on about how her mother approved of this and that until Mister Lennox found his way to their little group.

“Oh, Henry,” Bilbo said, full of nerves. “Have you met Master Durin?”

Mister Lennox eyed Thorin closely, scrutinously, and shook his head gently. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. Though I’ve heard much of you. You are quite famous in the cotton industry.” Thorin nodded in acknowledgement. A breath of silence passed between the group before Henry spoke again. “My friend, Bilbo’s cousin, was greatly impressed with today’s demonstration.”

“Was he,” Thorin asked sincerely. “What did he think of the industry?”

Henry looked at Bilbo then for a second before returning his eyes to Thorin. “He thought to dabble in the industry himself.”

Thorin frowned. “I would advise against dabbling, in general.” He motioned for his sister and Miss Latimer to join him. “Excuse us,” he said, leading the young women away.

But before they could leave Henry said, his voice full of mock concern, “you’ll have to give my regards to Bungo and Belladonna.” He looked directly at Bilbo then, his face full of scorn. “You’ll have to tell them how good the vacation from Milton is suiting Bilbo.” Then he looked at Thorin, as if he were marking his territory in Bilbo, “doesn’t he look well today? The London air doing so well for him?”

Thorin scowled at him and, without a word or glance at Bilbo, he said, “if you’ll excuse me.”

And then he was gone and Bilbo was angry.

 _How dare Henry make such a scene. He had no right! To think that he still thinks to have some sort of claim on me! The utter ridiculousness!_ Bilbo fumed, stalking away from Mister Lennox to find his cousin. He wanted nothing more to do with Henry at the moment. When he caught up with his cousin, Drogo could see that he was very upset but he didn’t have a chance to ask because just then Gandalf appeared as if from nowhere.

“Oh, Bilbo, young Drogo! So good to see you here.”

“Hello, Gandalf. What brings you here,” Bilbo asked civilly.

“Actually, it’s Master Durin.” He smiled at them all and said, “it was my idea that he should attend the exhibition to raise clout for the industry and financial backing for his mill. But it seems he is rather overwhelmed with the curiosity he is receiving. And the flippant idea from the general public that making cotton is a breeze.” He chuckled and said, “Londoners seem to think they can just snap their fingers,” he snapped his own for emphasis, “and they can turn a profit in so new an industry.”

Henry ventured, “I’m surprised you convinced him to attend. It seemed like he was quite content to keep his small world view of Milton and it’s industry.”

Unbidden and surprising himself Bilbo defended Thorin. “You’re wrong.” Mister Lennox stared at him but Bilbo held his own. “He’s very interested in the world and tries very hard to connect with it.”

“Truly,” Drogo asked sincerely. “Seems that all these big business types are rather caught up in their world of figures and profits.”

Bilbo shook his head and said once more, “you are mistaken. He cares a great deal for the world. He is one of my father’s pupils and I have often heard them in their evening lessons. Master Durin, despite his stony demeanor, really does care.” At that he offered a trip back to Drogo and Primula’s home to rest. He had wore himself out with all the excitement and was eager to be away from the jealousy and possessiveness of Henry Lennox.

They did not attend the exhibition again but that suited Bilbo just fine. He had already purchased his mother a lovely scarf and a nice print of an Oliphant for her from the exhibition and Bilbo was loathe to handle more unwanted excitement. Instead he spent the next two days in Drogo’s home enjoying his family’s company and playing with his new nephew. Henry did not show himself again whilst Bilbo was in London and Thorin did not enter his mind and Bilbo was content.

 

\~*~/

 

While Bilbo was away, Belladonna called for the Misses Durin.

“I am so happy that you accepted my invitation,” Belladonna whispered weakly.

“I had heard of your sour turn. I am very sorry to hear of it, Misses Baggins.” Misses Durin stepped to stand beside the bed. “If there’s anything I can do to...ease your way, comfort you in this hard time. Please, tell me.”

Belladonna swallowed thickly and motioned for her sit beside her on the bed. When Misses Durin was seated she spoke. “I know I’m not long for this world. And I am loathe to leave my poor Bilbo behind with no maternal guidance.” She laughed mirthlessly and said, “I know it sounds silly, him being a young man and all. Shouldn’t be taking so much stock in a mother’s word.” She looked pleadingly into Misses Durin’s eyes and asked, “would you watch over him?”

The shock was plain on Misses Durin’s face. She had not expected to be asked to such a delicate and intimate task. “I don’t know that he would value my input, my advice, as much as yours.”

“Probably not,” Belladonna admitted. “But you are a fine lady, Misses Durin. And you and your son have been very good to us. It would bring me peace to know that there was some one besides my husband to look out for him. Should he need it.”

Misses Durin nodded resolutely. “I can promise you this: should he ever seek my assistance I will give it willingly. I’d treat him as a son of my own. Give aid and advice where it’s needed.” She frowned slightly and added, “though it seems he’s already made his decisions. A poor one, in my opinion, leaving you in such a state.”

“It was at my insistence that he went,” Belladonna explained. “He didn’t need to sit here and watch me die. Agonizing over something that cannot be helped.” A tear collected in the corner of her eye and she said, “let him be happy with his cousins. Let him see his new baby cousin Frodo. Maybe he will meet someone to give him the same happiness that Drogo has found.”

Misses Durin kept silent, unsure of what to say. _He did meet someone who would have moved heaven and earth to make him happy,_ she thought. All she did in reply was nod and assure Belladonna that her son would be under her protection if it remained in her power to keep him so. How could she deny a dying woman such a request? Even if Bilbo did break Thorin’s heart.

She would be strong for them all. Like always.

 

\~*~/

 

Refreshed at last, with promises to visit again soon, he boarded a train back home. The ride was pleasant and uneventful and he smiled much. But his happiness left him the moment he walked into his home.

It was much too quiet for the hour and that had Bilbo very worried. He mounted the steps, dropping his bags in his room, and then went immediately to his mother’s room.

His heart dropped to his stomach at the sight of her.

Pale and thin, wrung out like a damp cloth, she laid in bed. Belladonna’s end was near and Bilbo knew it. For several days he sat by her bedside. She was awake little and said less. She did manage to tell him of a visit from Mistress Durin, that she had visited not a day before Bilbo returned from the exhibition. He had shown her the scarf he brought and she exclaimed happily at the picture of the Oliphaunt. While she listened quietly Bilbo told her of the things he saw at the exhibition but she was most interested in young Frodo. She smiled broadly of hearing that he was a happy, healthy boy and was over the moon for Drogo’s happiness. She touched Bilbo’s cheek and said, absentmindedly, that she wished Bilbo such happiness.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he could have had it with Thorin.

One night, while he kept watch over his mother, Bilbo spoke to Bella. He was wracked with guilt coming home to find her in such a way. “I can’t believe I left.” Tears stood in his eyes while he spoke. “While I was out having a grand old time my mother lay dying. How could I?”

Bella soothed, “this was all very sudden, young master.” She sat beside him and patted his hand. “She was so excited to hear all the events of the exhibition from you and she wanted you to go so badly. She wanted you to be happy.”

Bilbo nodded silently and spoke no more.

Not long after, the doorbell rung at the front door and Bella moved to get it, “who on earth could that be at this hour,” she huffed to herself.

“No,” Bilbo said quietly but sternly. “I’ll get it. Do not disturb my father. Watch over mother, please.”

Bilbo made his way to the door and answered it. In the darkness of the street he couldn’t see the figure on their stoop. “Who’s there, please?”

“Is Mister Baggins at home,” a voice replied. A voice he recognized and Bilbo’s heart leapt with joy.

“Fred!” he whispered excitedly and pulled his brother inside the safety of the house. “Oh, Fred! You’re here!”

“Of course I am,” he said, hugging his brother tight. For being the younger sibling, he towered over Bilbo as if he were a child. His hair was longer than it was when he had left them so long ago, very unlike the military like cut he had sported before. He was a touch older looking, but he had looked no worse for ware and that lightened Bilbo’s heart. “You did expect me, yes?”

“We did! But no so soon!”

Frederick swallowed thickly and asked, “and mother? Is she-”

“She lives,” Bilbo assured him. “She lives, just barely but she will be able to see you.”

“Thank God,” Frederick whispered and pulled his brother in for another hug.

“Bilbo,” Bungo called from the hallway. “Was that the door? Who was it?” When Bungo walked in and saw both his sons embracing he gasped. “Fred?”

“Hello, father,” he said sheepishly.

Without another word Bungo closed the space between them and embraced his son. “Oh, my dear boy! We have missed you, so! We’ve been sick with worry!” Seeing his father with his brother Bilbo finally understood what Sigrid had said all those months ago. _Mothers and sons, fathers and daughters…_ A parent’s love was unconditional no matter the sea that had stood between them all.

Then Bungo beckoned for Bilbo to join them and the three men hugged each other, clinging to each other like a rock in a storm.

Bungo called for Bella and Hamfast and upon their seeing Frederick they exclaimed in joy and rushed to hug him, happy that he had evaded capture still. They made assurances that a bed would be made for him right away and that food would be made ready for him after his long journey. But all Frederick cared for was to see his mother.

While Bella and Hamfast worked, Bungo and Bilbo took Frederick to Belladonna’s room. She was still asleep when he entered her room but Frederick crossed the threshold anyway. He had not expected her to look so small and weak. His last vision of her was the picture of health, even if she was immensely sad. He knelt at her bedside and reached out to take her hand.

At the touch Belladonna stirred. Her eyes blinked open and they found Frederick’s face and tears sprung to them immediately. “Is this some kind of fever vision,” she asked, unsure. “Is that really my boy, Frederick?”

“Yes,” he said, throat choked with tears. “Yes mother, I’m here.” Unable to move much she just opened her arms to him and he leaned in to hug his mother. Together they cried and held each other.

“I can’t believe that you are real! You’ve taken a great risk, my son.”

“All risks are worth being able to see you mother.”

They stayed up and talked awhile before Belladonna tired again. She was loathe to sleep but Frederick assured her that he would be there when she awoke again. She was persuaded to go to sleep and then Frederick rose and finally went to see about his own comforts. He had packed little and had little to eat on his travel to Milton. He ate heartily and Bilbo stayed up long into the night with his brother until, finally, neither of them could see through their groggy, sleepy eyes. They went off to bed, happy to finally be reunited, even for a short time.

 

\~*~/

 

Frederick had been in Milton just two days before Thorin came calling upon them. A small rise of panic threatened to choke Bilbo. He had wanted to bridge the gap between them. He wanted to make amends. But with Frederick in town, where he was in such danger, it was impossible to run the risk of letting him into the house where he could possible see Bilbo’s brother and report him. The hurt between them made the prospect of Thorin acting upon his honest nature and reporting Frederick, lawfully so, even more likely. Even if he still had fondness for Bungo he might do it just to hurt Bilbo. At least, that was his fear.

Bilbo went to the door and stood on the stoop to greet Thorin. “Good day, Master Durin.”

He stood there with a pinched expression, obviously expecting to be asked inside. In his arms was a basket covered with a cloth. He cleared his throat and said, “Good day, Mister Baggins.” He held out the basket for Bilbo to take. “Some more fruit for your mother. I hear her...condition is worsening. I wished to offer my condolences.”

Bilbo’s heart clenched in his chest and tears threatened to gather. But he hardened himself and made his mouth smile politely. “Thank you, Master Durin. She’ll be most happy that you thought of her.” Just then Tilda walked up the stairs and Bilbo passed her the basket and asked her to take it to Bella in the kitchen. He still had not invited Thorin inside and the man had noticed and was offended.

“Forgive me for intruding on your time of sorrow. But I was under the impression I was still welcome, despite our...differences. As your father’s guest, at the very least.”

Quickly, Bilbo threw up his hands in pleading. “Make no mistake, Master Durin, you are most welcome but…”

Thorin’s gaze focused behind him and he saw Fred’s coat and hat hung up in the hall and heard Fred’s voice from inside, laughing with his mother. His face soured again in pain and Bilbo wanted to badly to tell him the reason why.

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Thorin said softly. “It seems you are already entertaining.” He moved to step off the stairs and Bilbo tried to stop him.

“Thorin, wait! Please, it’s not what you think-”

Thorin stiffened at the sound of his name. But nonetheless he walked away and just said, “goodbye, Mister Baggins.”

He shouted after him, making a small spectacle, “please know you are welcome here, Mister Durin! I meant no offense!”

But it was no use. Thorin was gone and Bilbo felt empty.

He trudged his way back inside and up the stairs to find his brother alone in the parlour. “Where is mother,” he asked.

“She is asleep again.” He sighed, “it pains me to see her this way. So small.” He shook his head of the thought and asked, “who was that? The grocer? Some tradesman?”

“That was Master Durin. He’s a manufacturer. He owns Oakenshield Mills.”

Frederick nodded and said, “makes no difference to me. They’re all the same, businessmen. Always with half a mind in profits and not on the lives of others.” He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. “I still cannot believe that father led you all up here to be alone in such a time as this.”

Bilbo shook his head and said, “Thorin Durin, and his family, have been very good to us.” He breathed deeply and added, “he’s the very picture of a gentleman.” Then he smiled a small smile at Fred and said, “besides. If we weren’t in this god forsaken town, you would not have been able to have this time with mother. Count your blessings, little brother.”

Frederick laughed softly, “I suppose you’re right.”

While they waited on their mother to wake Fred told Bilbo of the woman he had met in Spain. Dolores was her name and he was quite enamored with her. Strong willed, beautiful, a great cook. The way Fred talked of her it made Bilbo wonder why he had not made the offer of marriage yet. When he asked him about it Fred has said he had not yet figured out the word to express his desire for her as a wife. Nor had he wanted to make such a decision without input from his family.

“But you do realize that we may never have had the opportunity, Fred?”

“I know it is silly. But I so wish that you could meet her. You would love her. Mother and father too. Perhaps one day you’ll make it to Spain and you can meet my girl.”

Bilbo smiled at the idea. “I would love nothing better,” he assured.

The happy idea of Spain and pretty girls for his brother soon left Bilbo’s mind. It did not take long for Belladonna to finally leave her pain and suffering, and her grieving family behind. Later that evening, as they all sat around her, lending comfort, the good lady took her last breath. Frederick shook his head and quailed that it must be a mistake, that she couldn’t be dead. They had not had enough time to say goodbye. Bilbo and Bungo remained silent. They had seen her slip into oblivion slowly for months. It pained them all but Bilbo and Bungo were relieved to not have to witness her pain any longer.

In the morning Bella went off in search of groceries for the wake. On her way back, a face from Helstone bumped into her.

“Well there, Missus Gamgee. Fancy meetin’ you here,” the scruffy man said.

“Smeagol,” Bella said, unimpressed. “What’re you doing in these parts?”

Smeagol shrugged and looked about. “Thinking of makin’ a bit o’ money here in the up-an-comin’ town o’ Milton. Better place to do it than Helstone, don’tcha think?” When Bella just shrugged in response he leaned in and asked, “still workin’ for those mad Bagginses? Those folks with that criminal boy o’ theirs?”

To Bella’s credit she didn’t flinch or show her discomfort of his asking. She lied and said, “just visiting my sister’s family.”

“Hmph, I’m sure,” he said before walking off and leaving her in a panic.

Once she was safely ensconced in the house she called for Bilbo. She told him of the encounter and Bilbo immediately began pacing, thinking.

“Do you think he suspects he’s here? In Milton?” Bella shrugged, “not sure, to be honest. Who knows what he thinks.” She busied herself with putting away groceries. “There’s still such a big reward out for Fred’s capture. Makes me sick to think that Smeagol could be the one to do the poor boy in.”

Bilbo shook his head violently. “No. Absolutely not.” He bit his finger in thought. “He’ll have to leave before the funeral. That’s all there is to it.” When Bella began to protest he held up his hand to stop her. “No arguing. It’s too dangerous to run the risk of people seeing him and having someone rat him out.” He looked at Bella with an expression that bordered between angry, resigned and immense sadness. “I’ve already lost a mother this week. I’ll not lose a brother too.” And with that, he walked off in search of Frederick.

 

\~*~/

 

“You can’t really mean that, Bill,” Frederick gasped.

“I really can, Fred.” He crossed his arms. “It’s too dangerous. This Smeagol fellow is bad news. A low life. He may guess that you’re here. You need to leave before the funeral.”

Frederick sank into a chair. “But she was my mother, Bilbo. How can you ask me to run before her body is placed in the ground? It’s not right. It’s not fair!”

“It seems life is never fair.” Bilbo frowned. So much in his life was unfair. He still had kept his feelings and interactions with Thorin a secret for fear that it would cause undue hurt to his family. He wished now he could share it with him, if only to share the burden of unfairness with him. But it would not solve anything. Instead of pouring out his heart Bilbo just said. “Please, Fred.”

Frederick got up and paced, a trait that both brothers shared when agitated and thinking. “I have a mind to dare them to hang me. To face the court martial without shame. I am, after all, innocent of any wrong doing.”

Bungo scoffed. “You seem to think that they care about justice.”

Then Bilbo had an idea. “What about a lawyer? To plead your case for you?”

Bungo’s head turned to him and Fred stopped pacing. “Do you think that will work,” Fred asked.

Bilbo thought of Henry Lennox. This might his chance to make amends, to show Henry that, while he didn’t appreciate his behavior at the exhibition, he still harbored a friendly fondness for him and that he meant no ill will. And he was an honorable, kind hearted man, even if he let his emotions run away with him at times. “I think that Henry Lennox would be just the man for the job.”

“That’s Drogo’s friend?” Bilbo nodded and Fred’s hope returned.

But Bungo returned them to the pressing present. “Whatever you do, though, get Frederick out of Britain. He’s not safe while the court martial stands.”

Bilbo nodded. “I’ll write a letter for you to give to Mister Lennox. You can take the night train into London to see him and board a ship to Spain as quick as you can manage.”

They spent the early part of the evening preparing Frederick to leave. Bella and Hamfast were sad to see him leave so soon but they understood the necessity. Hamfast did the honors of procuring a ticket for Frederick and Bella packed him a meal to enjoy on the train. She whispered to him conspiratorially, “I made those biscuits you love, the ones with the cinnamon. You could use with a bit o’ feedin’ up.”

When dark settled over Milton and the lanterns were lit, an hour before midnight, Bilbo and Frederick made their way swiftly to the train station. They didn’t risk hiring a cab for fear of questions. Instead they walked in the shadows and made it just barely in time. With ten minutes to spare before the train was due to leave Bilbo held his brother close, for perhaps the last time, and said goodbye.

Out of the corner of Bilbo’s eye he saw a figure move. He raised his head from his brother’s neck and saw that it was Thorin. He had seen Bilbo and Frederick embracing and scowled at them. Seeing Bilbo distracted, Frederick turned to look at the cause. When Fred spotted him Thorin left the platform, leaving the two men alone.

“Who was that,” Frederick asked.

A heaviness entered his heart and Bilbo swallowed thickly. “That was Master Durin.”

“What a scowl on that one,” Fred remarked. “Can’t be a very pleasant fellow.”

Bilbo chuckled, despite himself, and said. “Trust me, Fred. He has had many a reason to scowl. Life has not been easy nor kind to him.” _Nor have I,_ he added silently.

A voice shouted from behind them startling them both. “Bagginses!” The two men jumped at the sound and whipped around to see Smeagol, a vagrant and drunkard that they recognized from Helstone, the same man that Bella had run into earlier that day, staggering towards them. “Well lookey here, s’my lucky day innit?”

Fred held up his chin and his hands and said, “you are mistaken sir, I am no Baggins.”

“Sure you are, boy-o! Never forget a face! Certainly not one that’s been on posters with large sums of money attached to it.”

Smeagol reached to grab Frederick and he recoiled, shoving the drunk man away from him. Smeagol fell backward and tumbled down the stairs, knocking his head against the wall and stair, groaning all the way down. Bilbo ran to the top of the stair to see his condition and upon seeing the man still moving, and hearing the train’s final boarding whistle, he ran back to Fred and told him firmly, “get on the train! Now, go! Before more people show up!”

Frederick nodded quickly and jumped aboard the train. The brothers clasped hands for a final time and they kissed each other’s cheeks. Too numb to cry or shout or say much of anything they just said a hasty goodbye as the train pulled away, pulling their hands apart. Bilbo watched the train pull away until there was no trace of it to be seen. He checked the stairwell a final time and found it devoid of Smeagol’s presence. He then checked to be sure no guards had been attracted and swiftly made his way home, heart heavy in his breast.

The funeral for Good Belladonna Took-Baggins was held three days later. The church was mostly empty and Bilbo felt like crying but he had been wrung dry. Gandalf had made it just the day before to attend the funeral in the nick of time. He had been a comfort to Bungo while he resided in their home and walked with them to the church that morning.

This was not the funeral Belladonna deserved. She deserved to be laid to rest in Helstone. In the Shire she grew up and and loved better than anywhere else in the world. She deserved to have the church full of her friends and family. Instead there were a handful of people to see her off. In attendance were Bard and his remaining children, Gandalf, Bungo and Bilbo, the Gamgees and The Durins.

Bilbo could not stand to look at Thorin, the pain of loss so present in his chest. Instead he focused on the priest during the ceremony and led the procession out of the church to the graveyard where they laid Belladonna to rest. He shook hands with the few people who were there, including Thorin when he came to share his condolences, but he didn’t let himself feel anything. He made himself nod and speak politely. The funeral was over in short order and before Bilbo knew it he was back in his home in the sole company of his father and Gandalf. Not wanting to speak to anyone he told the two older men good night and spent the day in his room.

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin came to Belladonna’s funeral out of respect for the kind lady and out of the friendship he shared with Bungo, though it pained him that he had not visited since the disaster between him and Bilbo. _Bilbo._ The young man was trapped in his mind and he thought of him constantly. He had steeled himself to see a new, young romancer on Bilbo’s arm at the funeral. The sight of him embracing another man at the train station had struck him directly in his heart. Bilbo had lied. There was someone else. He could hardly bare the truth of it.

But when he arrived at the church Bilbo was alone with his father and Gandalf, no unknown man was to be seen. Bilbo had averted his gaze throughout the ceremony, though he was certainly aware of Thorin’s presence. Despite everything, Thorin still wanted to pull Bilbo close and comfort him. How different from that embrace on his porch, the day of the strike, might it feel to have Bilbo’s arms around him like the way he had held that man at the train station? Tender, full of emotion, soft but firm. He was truly sorry for Bilbo and Bungo’s loss so he remained with his mother and sister in the church for the ceremony and watched Belladonna be lowered into the ground.

He shook Bilbo’s hand at the graveside and shared his condolences and Bilbo nodded shortly and said his thanks. He had looked so worn and empty that it made Thorin’s heart hurt. If only Bilbo had accepted him. He could be a rock for Bilbo to lean on right then and there and he would not have to feel so alone.

On his way out of the graveyard an inspector made himself known. “Begging your pardon, Master Durin.”

“Hello, Mason was it?” The man nodded and Thorin asked, “What can I do for you?”

It turned out that there was a mysterious death in need of investigating. And with Thorin being a local magistrate Mason found it prudent to ask for his assistance. A man, drunk by all accounts, had knocked his head about and had died in hospital early that morning. “But if he was drunk then there can’t be a question as to his cause of death,” Thorin reasoned. “Drunken clumsiness seems to be the culprit here.”

“I’d agree with you sir. But there seemed to be an altercation with this man and another gentleman shortly before his injury. He was seen in a scuffle between a man he claimed to know at the train station just a few nights past.”

Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise. The night that he had been at the train station and had seen Bilbo and that other man. He had heard some shouting as he had left but paid it no mind. Perhaps that was the reason for this mysterious new man’s absence from Belladonna’s funeral. He could not be sure it was the same night that the man had died, nor could he be certain that Bilbo had had any involvement. He let the inspector do his job and did not offer any insight. He did not want to shine a light where there was no need.

 

\~*~/

The day after the funeral Bilbo and Bungo called on Bard.

“Thought you’d be comin’ round to see us soon,” Bard said, pouring the two men a drink.

“We wanted to thank you again for coming yesterday,” Bungo replied. “It was most gracious of you to remember us.”

Bard shook his head, “you remembered us when my girl died. Loss is no stranger to any of us. It’s right to stand with you in your time of need.”

Bilbo took his glass and sipped the liquid inside, a weak ale, and nodded. “We very much appreciate it.” Bilbo checked his watch and, finding it just after the dinner hour, he was certain that Bard should be on his way back from the mills, not home already. “Are you still out of work from the strike,” he asked delicately.

Bard acknowledged it and said, “the masters are all wanting the men to come back but I choose not to.”

“Whatever for,” Bungo asked. “Because they want to tear down the unions. The masters say we can come to work but only if we don’t pay into the union.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’ll not give ‘im the satisfaction o’ breakin’ me. I can find work elsewhere.”

Bilbo said timidly, “surely there’s a way for you both to see reason.”

“It’s not so simple,” Bard replied. “The unions are our only source of power. Our only way to voice what the workers want and need. Take that away from us and we’re all scraping around like dogs after scraps. We have no say in our condition.” He sighed. “The masters think that by takin’ out the unions that strikes will stop.”

“But striking did no good either,” Bilbo countered. “It would have if it weren’t for Boucher rilin’ everybody up. Throwin’ stones, rioting, getting the soldiers involved. Bloody mess.”

Bard stood taller and tried to drive the point home. “The union is our only shot at equality with the masters. And men like Boucher need to realize that.”

Bilbo, angry and full of grief, couldn’t stand to listen to Bard’s blindness anymore. “You think that a man scared to death and weak, would do the union good? ‘Every man together’ is all well and good but if one man is not strong enough to make it with the rest of the union then he shouldn’t be forced. It brings down your cause. Forcing him is like tyranny!”

“Bilbo,” Bungo chided, surprised at his outburst.

“No, no,” Bard soothed. “I like that he speaks his mind, even if he doesn’t know about what he speaks. He’s got spirit.”

“So educate me, Mister Bowman. How is this not like tyranny?”

Bard shook his head, “it’s complicated. All I can say is this: he was easier to keep an eye on while he was makin’ mischief when he was under the union’s eye. People were able to keep him in line and get him to see reason. But now he’s spooked and he went and started all rioting mess and now he’s roaming free. Sniveling at every doorstep for a job. All the mills turned him away, the men he was friends with won’t speak with him. Durin won’t prosecute him. He’s got nowhere left to go. Eventually he’ll see the errors of his ways and make amends.”

There was a commotion in the courtyard out in front of the Bowmans’ and they all filed out the door to see what it was. Four marshals carrying a stretcher, holding a sheet covered body on it, came into the courtyard and placed it on the ground. Seeing Bard, one of them spoke and said, “Where’s the Missus Boucher? We’ve found her husband in the canals.”

“No,” Bard gasped. “No, that cannot be Boucher. He’d never drown himself.” He crossed the space between his door and the stretcher to pull the sheet back from the face of the body and then choked on his breath. “Boucher! Damn you!” Bard sunk to his knees in guilt.

A little boy walked up to the stretcher, one of Boucher’s children and saw his father lying there. He asked, “why’s my daddy purple,” with all the unknowing innocence of childhood.

The marshal said that they found him near the mouth of one of the dye vat tunnels. The whole river around them was purple with dye and so was Boucher when they found him. Someone rushed off to find the Widow Boucher and when she came rushing, disbelieving, she dropped to her knees beside her husband and cried. She clutched his head and murmured things that couldn’t be understood through her grief. The marshal spoke quietly to her, told her they needed to move the body and release it into her custody. But she just shook with her loss and didn’t seem to understand their words.

“I’ll see to it,” Bard said. He stood and told the marshal that he would see to the arrangements.

As it happened, he had to plan two funerals in short order. The Widow Boucher followed her husband to the grave three days later, leaving behind six young children. Bard took responsibility with them too. He took all the children in, now having eight mouths to feed and a lifetime of regret. Not of taking orphans in need into his home and his care. But for having, however unwittingly, put them in that way in the first place. Bilbo helped out where he could, offering Tilda work at their home and bringing round groceries when he could. It seemed to put Bard’s mind at ease.

Bilbo’s mind, however, remained troubled. A few days after they put the Bouchers in the ground an inspector Mason came to call on them. It seemed that a man had died in the infirmary some many days ago and an inquiry had been begun.

“I’m sorry to distress you at such a time, sir. But an unidentified man has died and we think the cause stemmed from a drunken dispute at Utwood Station between eleven and twelve the evening of the 26th. A man, a grocer, remarked at seeing you there, Mister Baggins. The grocer seemed to remember you from his shop because he, and I quote, ‘found him remarkably handsome’. We just want to know if you saw or heard anything suspicious. We think he had had a problem with the drink and was involved in some sort of dispute but we can’t be sure.”

Bilbo inwardly panicked but remained calm on the outside. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, inspector. I was not there that night.”

The man looked like he didn’t believe him. “I’m sorry, sir, but there were witnesses that claim to have seen you.”

“I can assure you that I was not,” Bilbo retorted. “That was the evening after my mother died. I was here, making arrangements for her funeral.” He stared calmly but firmly to drive his point home. “I’m sorry for the confusion. As much as I would like to own up to the accusation of being ‘remarkably handsome’, I was not there that evening.”

“I see,” he said. “Is there anything else, inspector?”

“No.” He took a step towards the door but then added, “are you absolutely certain that this is the truth.” Bilbo nodded and he continued. “I may have to call upon you later for an inquiry. To provide an alibi. I know that this is an...indelicate time, Mister Baggins. But I must do my duty to the community.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding. “I understand, inspector. Regrettable as this man’s death is, I can assure you that I was not there.” Taking a final look at Bilbo he said farewell and left the house. Leaving Bilbo vibrating with uncertainty and dread.

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin was on an errand when inspector Mason found him. “Master Durin!”

“Ah, Mason. What news have you?”

“Well, I’m having a bit of a problem with this debacle over the death of that man at the station.”

“Yes, the man’s name was Smeagol, was it not?” Mason nodded and Thorin said, “he was engaged to a girl in my mother’s employ. Shame. She’s been out of sorts for days now.” He walked with Mason at his side. “You saw that he was a drunk for sure, but you think it’s clear he died by the hand of violence?”

“Yes sir,” Mason replied. “Now, this is rather indelicate but…”

After a moment of silence Thorin motioned for him to speak. “What is it inspector Mason?”

“Well, you are acquainted with the Bagginses, yes?” Thorin agreed he had and Mason continued. “Well, I have a very reliable description from a reliable source that says that the young Mister Baggins, Bilbo, was there that night. That he was seen walking with another gentleman at the train station and might have seen something. But he says he was not there.”

Thorin was shocked. He hoped that he was wrong about the night in question but it seems that it was true. Bilbo might have seen something, might have been involved, and yet he lied. _What innocent person does that?_ “You say he said he was not there?”

“Yes. I asked him twice. And very emphatically he denied being there.” He looked sheepish and added, “it’s hard not to want to take the word of a respectable gentleman but my source swears that he saw Bilbo Baggins that night.”

Thorin nodded. “You were right to see me. I’ll inquire further. Don’t ask after Mister Baggins again until you’ve seen me again. Maybe I can bring clarity to the situation.” With that, he walked off and left the inspector alone.

The entire way to his home he fumed. First Bilbo in the arms of another man, so late at night, and then this trouble with the law. He could hardly stand it. He was so heartbroken and upset. He did not know what Bilbo was doing, being so indiscreet and putting his family’s reputation at risk. But he decided to do one last kindness, for Bungo’s sake. He would speak with the grocer, tell him in no uncertain terms that he was mistaken, and he would personally accept responsibility for the remains of Smeagol.

When he entered his home to write his letter he heard sobbing coming from the kitchens. Jane, the girl engaged to the late Smeagol, was inconsolable again and it grated on Thorin’s nerves. He himself was in emotional turmoil but no one saw him in such distress, did they? His mood only dipped further into black when his mother mentioned the scandal Bilbo made to the servants by being rumored to have been seen out so late with a stranger. Thorin snapped at her that he didn’t care and went off to write his letter.

Later that day he went to visit the grocer in question and made his point clear. The grocer understood very clearly and assured he meant no offense. After that he took himself to see the inspector and the coroner and made his opinion, that there was no further evidence to suspect foul play, and implored them to drop the investigation on lack of evidence. Lastly, he gave his letter to the inspector and asked him to visit Bilbo and tell him the investigation was over.

He was determined to drive home his assistance by making sure Bilbo knew he had intervened for his own good, wanting to rub him and shame him, even if that knowledge was just between the two of them. He was so upset with the turn of events that he didn’t care if Bilbo might be hurt in his actions. He didn’t care. That night, he went to the Bagginses and called upon Bungo. When Bilbo opened the door, tears shone in his eyes and for a moment his resolved softened. He didn’t want to speak hurtful words. Instead he just followed Bilbo inside and went to the stairs after Bilbo told him that Bungo as in his study.

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo choked on his words, his emotion and it stilled Thorin. “I want to thank you-”

“Do no thank me,” he said harshly. “I did not do it for you.”

Bilbo looked hurt but he just nodded. “I know what you must think of me. I wish I could tell you about-” Bilbo caught himself and shook his head to clear his eyes. “The man’s identity is not my secret to tell.”

“I don’t care for his secrets or yours, Bilbo Baggins.” He stood over the man, shivering with emotions that Thorin couldn’t guess at. “I want to make this very clear to you. I cleaned up this mess, not for your sake but for Bungo’s. Out of respect for him as a gentleman,” he emphasized the word to drive home his ungentlemanly opinion of Bilbo. “Any foolish affection I had for you before has been effectively cleared through your actions, Mister Baggins. Our slates are wiped clean of each other.”

“Thorin,” Bungo called from the top of the stair, “come on up, dear boy. Utopia awaits!”

 _If only,_ Thorin thought wryly. “Good evening, Mister Baggins.” Without another word, Thorin left Bilbo with tears in his eyes, and an unnamed guilt in his heart, to spend the evening with Bungo.


	4. Chapter 4

Bard hung his head in shame, hurt pride, as he walked into Oakenshield Mill. He came to beg for a job, knowing that Master Durin paid a decent wage and that there would be work for Bain if he made a good impression. His thoughts of having to provide for nine, himself included, was daunting. _But this is what I deserved, he thought. This is what comes o’ being too hard. Too stubborn. Drivin’ folk to maddness with lack o’ mercy._

The children in his care, the oldest boy in particular, were giving him a constant lesson in mercy. The unquenchable well of forgiveness and love that children had to offer brought light into his life that had left since Sigrid had died. Boucher’s eldest, a boy named Charlie, was just over six. He, like the others, had cried for the loss of his parents and missed them terribly. But then he had taken a shine to Tilda when she offered to teach him to read.

“My mum was teachin’ me a little,” he said, sniffling into his hand. “She didn’t know much.”

Tilda smiled at him and told him that she would pick up where his mother left off. They started with a small prayer card. It was printed with the Lord’s prayer and a psalm about the lamb of God. Once he managed the simple task she spent some of her own coin to buy him a small children’s book. His smile was so sincere, and his hard work at trying to pick out the words by himself touched Bard, so.

He needed to find a job. Boucher’s children deserved a chance.

But, as he had expected, he was tossed out on his arse when he had come to ask. He was berated by Mister Williams and sent packing and threatened with violence if he were to ask again. Resigned with the outcome, he decided to plead to the Bagginses for help.

His pride was further poked when the maid looked down her nose at him with his dirty boots and wouldn’t let him past the kitchen unless he took them off. “Won’t have you tracking mud all over the freshly cleaned floors,” she insisted. Much as it dug at him, he bent to the task and removed his boots. He grimaced at the coldness of the floor on his bare feet. The winter had not been kind and his feet were always frozen, but this was the worst in some time. Only then, once his clean feet were presented to the maid’s scrutiny, did she lead him to a parlour and left him there to wait for Bilbo and Bungo to show themselves.

After Bungo offered him a seat he took it. Then he pled his case.

“I apologize for coming without an invitation. Without any warning,” Bard started.

“Nonsense,” Bilbo dismissed. “You are welcome here, Bard.”

Bard nodded and said, “I’ll be plain. I’ve been looking for work. But the masters won’t have me. They’ll not have me work in their mills when I helped organize the strike and wounded their pride.”

“What can I do to help you,” Bungo asked, concerned.

“Well,” he looked at Bilbo with a small amount of hope in his eyes. "I heard Bilbo, here, talk about the south. About Helstone and the farming and the labor needed down there.” He rubbed his hands together, nervously. “I was wondering if you could help me get work down there?”

“What kind of work?”

“I’ll take anythin’ to be honest. Digging ditches, herding sheep, sowing fields.”

“Oh Bard,” Bilbo gasped. “I couldn’t bear it, so.” He knelt at Bard’s side and took his hand. “You’re a Milton man, through and through. The pace of the south would kill you. Would strip you of your soul. I couldn’t bear to see that.” Then Bilbo licked his lips, uncertainty apparent in his face. “Have you tried Oakenshield Mills?”

Bard chuckled mirthlessly. “Aye. I was told, not gently, to be off.”

“Would you try again,” Bilbo implored. “I just know if you talked to Mister Durin directly, pled your case, that surely he would judge you fairly. Promise me you’ll try.”

Bard sighed and said, “I’ll think about it.” Then he looked and Bungo and asked, “if you happen to hear anything about work in the south will you think of me?”

“Of course,” Bungo assured. “If I hear of any work for you at all I will inform you right away.”

“I appreciate that.” His bare feet were cold and his pride stung. He wanted to be away from all the indignity of asking for help. From grasping at faint hopes. He stood and said, “I’ll see myself out.” He shook hands with Bilbo and Bungo and said, “thank you again for all your help.”

Bilbo nodded and said, “you’ll find your shoes by the fire.”

Bard left the sitting room and went back to the kitchen and found his boots. They had been scraped clean of dirt and a top them laid a clean pair of stockings. Smiling at the endless generosity of the Bagginses, he sat at a stool to pull them on. They were warm from sitting by the fire and his toes curled at the unexpected luxury. Next, he laced on his boots and smiled. For the first time in months, his feet were warm and comfortable.

Bard didn’t know how he could have ever repaid the debt he had racked against the Bagginses but he would spend a lifetime trying to do so. They helped a man who, by all accounts, didn’t deserve it. And for that, Bard was grateful.

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo watched Bard leave the room and felt, yet again, the weight of helplessness. It was hard to watch good men suffer. Bard was a hot-blooded man, quick to emotion and stubborn. But Bilbo knew he cared a great deal and had truly felt the weight of his guilt. He had truly felt in the right when he had shunned Boucher. Believing that it would set the man straight and make him try to right the wrongs he committed against the union. Instead, the isolation drove him mad and had caused the death of him and his wife from grief. Bilbo had been to the Bowmans’ home several times since the Boucher children had moved in. They were all so young, the youngest being barely a year old. He saw Bard struggle and did what he could to help.

Seeing Bard finally soften his heart, and his stubbornness, and look for any work to keep the children fed tugged at Bilbo.

“I never knew that these Milton men, so prideful and stubborn, could be so humble when the occasion truly called for it,” Bungo remarked. “Perhaps God found his way to Milton.”

“I feel terribly for him,” Bilbo confessed. “The other masters are so spiteful and refuse to hire him despite his need. But I know that Master Durin will hire him if only Bard appealed to his heart.”

“My, my, Bilbo,” Bungo chuckled. “To admit that the south is not for everyone and that Master Durin has virtues. Are you ill? What happened to change your mind, dear boy?”

Bilbo let the question hang and left the room to read his post.

Some several hours later, quite unexpectedly, Misses Durin called upon him.

“I thank you for your kind words and actions towards us lately, Misses Durin,” Bilbo said politely as he led her into the parlour. “They’ve been a great comfort to me and my father. As is your visit, unlooked for as it was.”

“I’m sure they have,” she replied, curtly as ever.

Bilbo nodded and went to the writing desk in the corner and pulled out a pamphlet. “I spoke with my cousin after the exhibition. Dis showed some interest in some of the music they played there and I took the liberty of having some of the music sent here. This is an Italian ballad that Dis was most excited to pla-”

“I’ve not come to indulge my daughter in her fancies,” Misses Durin said forcefully.

Bilbo placed the pamphlet on the desk and sat in the chair opposite of her and folded his hands neatly in his lap. “There was something of import you wished to discuss,” he observed.

“I have an obligation. A duty to perform. I promised your mother that I would offer my advice should I deem it necessary and I have seen that it is sorely needed.” Bilbo sat there and listened, anger building beneath his calm face. “I heard some of the servants’ talk. They say that you were seen, after dark, in the arms of some stranger. And that this strange man may have been involved in the death of the fiance of one of my girls. Well, it’s my duty to your mother to warn you of the consequences of taking such a risk!”

“Misses Durin!” Bilbo was shocked at such an attack. “I’ll thank you not to insult me in my own home.” He pursed his lips and clenched his hands together in his lap. “I would not have pegged you as one to listen to idle gossip. I can assure you that I have done nothing to warrant such scorn from you.” He sighed and looked at his hands and said, “whatever Master Durin has told you-”

“My son has said nothing,” Misses Durin said coldly. “And if he had heard what I have heard then he has kept silent to me about it. As any gentleman would.” She sneered at him. “You know nothing of the man you rejected. How he would have done all in his power to make you happy.”

“I do not doubt it,” Bilbo said quietly. “I have done wrong,” he admitted. “But not in any way that you may imply. Circumstances, such as they are, hold my tongue for me.”

“‘Circumstances such as they are’,” she scoffed. “Well, can’t say I’m sad to hear of your rejection of him.” She looked at him directly and said, “I’ve never liked you. With your impertinent manner and brashness. And now that you’ve gone and made yourself a spectacle for servants-”

“You’ll forgive me, ma’am, if I don’t stay to listen to anymore abuse from you,” Bilbo said harshly. He bowed a small bow at her and said, “I trust you can find your way out. Good day, Misses Durin.” Bilbo walked out without a second glance and left the older woman sitting there, fuming at the treatment she received.

A moment longer of composure and she saw herself out and Bilbo was glad to see her leave.

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin was in a state that morning. He had risen early, working on papers from the banks, reviewing backlogs of orders, trying to find the way to pay them all and keep the mill running. He made an appointment with Gandalf, his banker, and rushed off to see him at ten in the morning. Securing his hat on his head he hurried out of his office and walked quickly through the yard. At the gate a man stepped out into his line of view.

“Excuse me, Master Durin. I must speak with you,” he said.

Not looking at the man, not registering his face, he simply walked by and said. “Very busy. Can’t stop. Good morning.”

To burn off some excess energy and anxiety Thorin walked the short walk to Gandalf’s home. He took the steps to the door two at a time and rang the bell, bouncing on the balls of his feet. When the servant opened the doors he was let in immediately and shown to the billiard room. Thorin was unsurprised. Gandalf had always been rather informal, often taking their meetings there or in his smoking room rather than in his office. It was one of the things he liked about the man. While he was infuriating to converse with personally, always making a joke or riddle of a situation and making harmless mischief, he was very plain spoken and direct in business matters. He could discuss anything and everything wherever he chose to with complete confidence and knowledgeability.

Gandalf entered a moment later and racked up the balls himself. “Good morning, Thorin. I see you’re a little out of sorts today.”

“Aye,” Thorin agreed. “I’ve been going over the books. I’m overwhelmed.”

“It’s a pity much of your profit is tied up in all that machinery.”

Thorin exhaled deeply. “Those new machines were necessary. We were doing well. We had orders lined up and I didn’t expect the strike to take us out for so long!”

“But work has been going for some months now,” Gandalf stated. “How are the payments not being met?”

“We’re so far behind I fear we shall never catch up,” Thorin confessed. “I should hate to default on loan or contract but it seems I might do both.”

“Well,” Gandalf offered, “I could appeal to the banks to extend the loan. For a short time. However, there are more...modern ways of gathering funds, Thorin. Certain investments.”

Thorin stared openly at him. How could Gandalf suggest such a thing? “You mean a speculation?”

“That I do, Thorin. There’s several that would help ease your financial woes, should they pay well.”

“I’ll not risk my men and their livelihood on some speculation that could put us under,” Thorin stated defiantly.

Gandalf looked at him softly, concern evident. He said, “but if matters continue as they do then it might be too late to do anything about it.” He placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder and said, “I do not say this lightly. I know of your past, Thorin. But not all speculation ends in disaster. If you are not able to pay off your loans or make your quotas then there will be nothing left to gamble.”

Gandalf’s words settled over him uncomfortably. He thanked him for his time, as unfortunate as the news was, and left the house to return to the mill. The pros and cons of speculation whirled in his head like a windstorm. He did not want to be his father, risking everything just to turn out all his workers without pay. Without security.

But what of his mother? She was old now. Needing of a gentle life if she were to live longer years. And Dis. She was to be married soon, to a businessman named Rorin. Her wedding would cost a small fortune and she had to be set up with an allowance. He must take care of his family as well as his employees. If he invested and succeeded then he would not have to fret over money for a good long while.

The looming dread was daunting and made the chance of success seem small. He still had not decided on what he would do at all when he arrived at the mill. Again he was stopped at the gates by a man.

“Excuse me sir,” he said politely. “I need to speak with you.”

Thorin recognized the man once he got a look at him. Bard Bowman. Union man, troublemaker, one of Thranduil’s former workers. He could guess at his reason for talking but he would never turn away anyone without letting them try to make their case. “Then you better come inside,” he said.

In a matter of minutes they were in Thorin’s office at the mill and Thorin sat immediately to inspect several new envelopes on his desk. All from debtors, asking where their money or product was. Thorin had no answers for them. He looked up at Bard and said, “what do you wish of me, sir?”

“My name is Bowman-”

“I know who you are,” Thorin interrupted. He saw the man’s fall in resignation. He expected to be dismissed, which Thorin expected he would do. But he was determined to hear the man out. “What do you want?”

“Work.”

Thorin scoffed. “Well you got nerve, don’t you, Bowman?”

Bard tried still, “Greenleaf would tell you I’m a hard worker.”

“That’s not all he says, let me assure you.”

“Please sir,” Bard said softly. “I’ve taken in a brood of children from a man driven to madness. Killed himself, his wife died soon after, after the Irish took his job.”

“The strike forced my hand,” Thorin reasoned. “Orders had to be filled and you lot weren’t there to do it.” He stood and said, “I lost a few of my best men to your striking and rioting, keeping to the union.” Bard nodded and said nothing. Thorin continued, “now, I’m not sure what makes you think I’d believe your story, I’m not sure that I do. But if it’s true I’d advise you to look elsewhere than Milton for work.”

“I’d gladly take it if I could get it. In the summer work is plenty in the country and good. But in the winter there’s nothing and those children would starve.”

Anger boiled in Thorin, the nerve of this man. “You’d take those lower wages? No union? You thought nothing of the suffering of other families for the sake of your strike. My Irishmen came and worked, starved, for the thought of your families and here you stand. Talking of suffering when you could have prevented it.” He shook his head. “I’ll not hire you. You’re wasting your time.”

Thorin’s verdict didn’t seem to come as a surprise. Bard set a determined face on him and said, “I knew you’d say that.”

His admittance sparked Thorin's curiosity, speaking so plainly. “Then why did you waste your time?”

“Because a gentleman told me to appeal to your heart. To your better sense of self.” He chuckled and shook his head, “guess he was wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been led astray. Won’t be the last, I suspect.”

Thorin bent his head to his papers and said, “this gentleman should stick to his own business and stop advising you to waste your time and mine. Good day, Mister Bowman. And good luck.”

At the dismissal Bard left. As soon as the sound of his footsteps dissipated he stood and went to find Mister Williams. “How long was he standing out there, waiting to speak with me?”

“He was here when I came in,” Mister Williams supplied. “And it’s nearly four now. Been here an awful long time for someone who’s been turned out before. Twice now, I imagine.”

Thorin nodded and thanked him. The man’s persistence, even in the face of failure, stunned him. Made him wonder why he would even try. There had to be a reason beyond simple need for one’s survival. He asked for Mister Williams again and talked with him about Bard. Through Williams he discovered the whole story. A man from his own mill was the one to start the riots. A man named Boucher. It was true that he had been turned away by friend and employers, alike, and he had killed himself out of grief. It was true that his wife died a few days later. It was true that they left behind six young children. And, lastly, it was true that Bard had taken in the whole lot out of guilt and sense of responsibility.

Having his doubts about the man turned upside down Thorin was at a loss for words. He had shamed a man who had tried to do right, in his own way, and had humbled himself to ask for a job directly from Thorin himself. An honest man, and a proven hard worker, Bard Bowman was.

Thorin made the decision to find him the next day at his home and see for himself the man and his motley family. He owed the man an apology.

And a job.

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo rushed through the snow to the draper’s shop. They were in sore need of some new buttons for a few waist coats and Bilbo wanted to see their selection. Once inside the warmth of the store a shrill voice greeted him. “Oh, Mister Baggins!”

“Good day, Miss Durin.” Dis waved her hand in greeting and then waved her hand in front of his face, smiling broadly. Upon her finger was a lovely diamond ring, rather large to his mind, and he was quite surprised. He had heard no such rumors of engagement.

“Oh my,” he said, “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said. She pulled a man from behind her away from a lace display and introduced him. “This is my dear Mister Vili Rorin . We’re to be married soon! Once the spring comes.”

The two men shook hands and Mister Rorin spoke. “Pleasure to meet you Mister Baggins.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

“I’m afraid if you don’t hurry,” Rorin said with mock severity, “that my girl, Dis, will buy up the whole shop without you getting a chance to purchase anything.” They all laughed politely and he walked off to examine another display.

Dis leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “I know he’s a fair sight older, bit grey around the edges, but he’s a good match for us Durins. Well placed, fortunes high.” She looked at him and smiled fondly, absentmindedly, “and he is very fond of me. Very kind and gentle.” Then she regained herself and smiled broadly at Bilbo, gloating.

“I’m very happy for you, Miss Durin,” Bilbo said sincerely.

“You know he’s trying to convince Thorin into a speculation with him. It’s supposed to be a very worthwhile investment, I’m sure.”

“A speculation,” Bilbo said, confused. “Forgive my confusion, but I thought that Master Durin had no care for such risky business?”

“Oh, pish posh,” Dis dismissed. “‘All business is risk’, as my dear Vili would say. Thorin’s going to have to come round sooner or later if he means to be competitive in today’s world of business.”

Bilbo licked his lips and nodded, “I’m sure you’re right.”

He walked off to look at the table of buttons, trying to complete his intended task without further distraction. But the shock of the possibility that Thorin would enter a speculation, given his past, distracted him. Then a loud exclamation from Dis made him lift his head to the register.

“Oh my, don’t you dare, Vili! Send the bill to Oakenshield Mills, I’ll not have you pay for a single button! We can certainly afford it.” She tossed a look over her shoulder at Bilbo, to throw their wealth in his face and he set his eyes back to the button display.

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin thought to take the day’s work in his home in the company of a nice fire and his mother. It was cold that day and he preferred the atmosphere at home than the buzz off the mill. He had bent to his task all morning but was disturbed when Dis graced them with her presence.

“Can’t believe the nerve of that Bilbo Baggins,” Dis scoffed, sorting through the new bolts of fabric she had purchased. “He saw me in the drapers and congratulated me on my wedding. But he looked so stuck up about it. As if we couldn’t afford the expense!” She sniffed and smiled at the fabric, “showed him didn’t I?”

Dis certainly showed that she could spend money with no thought. Thorin groaned internally at the expense. But it was necessary. New dresses had to be made, shoes cobbled, guests invited. There was nothing for it. But Dis wasn’t satisfied with just complaining of Bilbo’s, rather correct, assumption that money was tight. She went on to talk about the speculation that Mister Rorin had tried to entice Thorin into joining. Said it would make ten times the amount put in if it succeeded.

But the pay in was great as it was and if it failed the result would be disasterous. “It’s as if he thinks he knows you better than I do, Thorin. Thinking you have no care for the sensible option.”

“What do you know of money, Dis? How to make it or how to invest it? All you can do is spend it,” Thorin snapped, annoyed. Bilbo did know him, in this respect, better than his sister and it annoyed him. Poked at his lingering affection.

“I know that this is a smart investment, Thorin,” Dis insisted. “Vili says that there is thousands to be made if you buy in. This could be good for you, for us.”

“I’ll not risk the lives and salaries of my workers,” Thorin insisted back.

Dis set her jaw in determination. “You’ll be sorry you said that,” she said before storming off, stomping her feet in retaliation.

Once she was gone his mother stood from where she was sitting with her needlework to ask him delicately, “is it that risky?”

“Do you need to ask?” Thorin hung his head and held it in his hands, a headache forming behind his eyes. “For now, we’re stable. We can endure as long as we make our orders.” He sighed, “if it succeeds then all our problems will be over. We’ll have enough to pay off our debts with money to spare.”

“And if it fails?” Thorin did not answer and his mother understood the doom written in the failure. “But if it succeeded then no one would ever know.”

“But if it fails I doom others as well,” Thorin said resolutely. “Would you have me do that? Like father?”

She hugged his head to her and asked, “is there anything I can do? To help you in any way?”

Thorin smiled, “pray for a good summer. For a rise in popularity of cotton clothes. Pray that all our contracts pay their bills on time.” Then he chuckled. “And pray Dis doesn’t get it into her head to order more from the drapers.”

She laughed with him and for a moment their thoughts were light. The wedding would be a lovely event, one that set Dis up for life and made her secure. It was a comfort to Thorin that he could, in some way, take care of his sister. Even if she annoyed him to no end. She deserved to be taken care of and Mister Rorin would ensure that she was.

Once the day’s work was finished Thorin took himself to see Bard.

He walked the filthy streets alone and remembered his childhood. He had spent most of his childhood in a similar neighborhood; trash filling the streets, people milling in the doorways, cramped and tiny apartments everywhere you looked. It was a depressing reminder that me might be brought low like that again and it hardened his resolve against the speculation. Speculation was not a certainty and he would not gamble with nothing.

He knocked on the Bowmans’ door and Bard answered. His face broke out into an amused smile and his eyebrow twitched upward. “Well, isn’t this a surprise.” He held the door open and said, “come in.”

Thorin entered the home and saw it filled with children. Little ones playing on the floor, an older boy scrubbing dishes and an older girl teaching a younger boy to read. They were sounding out the words, syllable by syllable, and it reminded Thorin of his precious few school days. “Are these your children,” he asked Bard.

“Not all of them.” He pointed to the older ones and said, “them are my girl Tilda and Bain. The rest are Bouchers. They’re as good as mine now, I suppose.”

Thorin nodded, impressed at the level of care the man showed. The children looked happy, even if they were too skinny with dirty faces. He looked at Bard and said, “I came to offer an apology.”

“You did not believe me,” Bard said knowingly.

“I made inquiries and now seeing these children confirms it. Despite our differences you are an honest man and I can respect that.” He prepared for a refusal and then said, “I also came to offer you job.”

Bard chuckled at that and held up ticked off on his fingers, “first you’ve called me impudent, a liar, mischief-maker. And now you offer me a job?” He folded his arms and shrugged. “I’ll take it. And thank you for it, for the sake of these children. Do you think that you and I can get on, for their sake as well?”

Thorin smiled at the proposition. “I did not offer that we should get along as part of the agreement.” But then he added, “but if you keep to your work I see no reason why we can’t be civil.”

Bard nodded and held out his hand. “S’a good deal for me.”

Thorin shook it and agreed. “Keep to your hours, mind. We keep a tight ship at Oakenshield.” Then he leaned in to whisper, out of the ears of the children, “and if I catch you using your brain to cause trouble I will not hesitate to turn you out. You’ll have my word on that.”

Bard eyed him, no fear at all, and said, “suppose I better keep my brains at home, then.” He made to leave but then a thought stopped him. The Bowmans knew the Bagginses. Bard had said a gentleman told him to humble himself to Thorin and ask for a job. He knew Bungo would never interfere in that manner, he would have asked Thorin himself to take Bard on. It had to have been Bilbo.

He asked Bard, “was it Bilbo Baggins that told you to ask me to hire you?” Bard’s answering smile was all the proof he needed. “You could have just told me that he recommended you.”

“Would that have made you more civil,” Bard joked.

Thorin ignored the comment and rolled his eyes. He had no idea of how he would have reacted had he known. Still, he got a good employee out of the endeavor and it was no consequence to him how he came to him.

He was to visit the Bagginses that evening for a lesson after his visit with Bard. When he was shown into the house by Bilbo he made sure to relay the news to him. “I’ve hired Bard Bowman on,” he said simply.

Bilbo smiled at him, “I’m glad to hear of it.”

“He did not tell until after I did that you had recommended him.”

Bilbo laughed at that and said, “would that have made you more or less to have hired him?”

“I’m not sure,” Thorin conceded. “But nonetheless, I’ll not revoke my offer.” Bilbo frowned and dropped his head.

“I did not think you would. You have a great deal of honor, sir. I’m afraid I have a better opinion of you than you do of me at the moment.”

Bilbo’s admission, and compliment, shocked him. It sent a thrill down his spine. Rather than reply he simply smiled and tipped his head in farewell and went up the stairs to take his lesson with Bungo.

 

\~*~/

 

Later that evening Bungo found Bilbo in the sitting room reading. He sat and lit his pipe and said, “I have question for you, Bilbo. But you need not answer if you don’t wish to.” He puffed a puff on his pipe and said, “is there reason for me to believe that Master Durin cared for you?” Bilbo’s head snapped up in surprise, the bluntness with which Bungo had asked. Bungo didn’t need him to answer, his response to the question was confirmation enough. “Ah,” he said before taking another puff. “And you rejected him,” he stated, knowing the answer.

Bilbo bit his lip and placed his book on the table beside him. “I’m sorry, father. I should have told you of his offer to me.”

Bungo held up a hand to still him, “no, no. That’s quite alright. You’re a man of age and who am I to judge you.” He looked at his pipe and fingered the mouth piece. “Though that would account for Thorin’s decreased presence. I do value his company and conversation since your mother…” He shook his head and looked at Bilbo with sincerity. “But if his presence upsets you than I’ll not ask him to visit. I do not wish to distress you.”

Bilbo shook his head and said, “it’s quite alright, father. I am more than willing to let Master Durin into our home, to welcome him as a guest. I’m afraid the awkwardness is all on my side and neither of you should suffer. My discomfort with Master Durin is already decreasing, I promise you.”

Bungo said nothing more. He didn’t need to. Instead he nodded his acknowledgement of Bilbo’s feelings and fingered a book at his own tableside. He did not know the depths of Thorin’s affections for his son but they were evident whenever he looked at Bilbo. His son was good at hiding his feelings from him and so he had not noticed until the ordeal was over.

Belladonna might have known. She always knew things before he did. He missed her more than ever, now, and ached for her company and guidance. _She would have known what to say,_ Bungo thought before settling in for an evening with Plato, yet again.

 

\~*~/

 

It was some weeks since Thorin hired Bard. He had been keeping an eye on the man and he seemed sincere in just wanting to show up to earn money for all his children. The quitting bell had rung but Thorin stayed in his office while everyone else had gone. All was quiet in a short time and he was left to his thoughts.

Then a small voice from outside attracted his ear. He looked out and saw Bard’s fosterling sitting, waiting for Bard, reading aloud from a book. The innocent sight made him smile. He pushed away from the desk and went out to ask after the brood. He sidled up the boy and asked, “where’s Bowman?”

“He’s finishin’ up, sir.”

Thorin nodded and asked, “you eaten your supper yet?" The boy shook his head and said, “Tilda went to the butcher but there weren’t anythin’ so she didn’t do dinner.”

So matter-of-factly said, the admission of starving. It made Thorin’s heart ache. He knew what hunger was like. It was a wonder he had made it to adulthood. Then footsteps distracted him and he saw Bard walking their way. “You’re late leaving,” he said to Bard.

“Work wasn’t done,” he said simply.

“You know I can’t pay you overtime.”

“You’re working overtime, too, beggin’ your pardon.” He smiled and sat on the other side of the boy.

“Boy-”

“Charlie,” Bard corrected.

“Charlie tells me he hasn’t had his supper yet.”

“Well, sometimes there’s meat fit to eat. Sometimes there ain’t, even if you got money in your pocket. That’s the way of it.”

Thorin had an idea just then. “Shame you can’t get a scheme going.” Bard turned his head to him with an eyebrow quirked. “Buy food wholesale. Cook for twenty instead of one. Could make it work.”

Bard smiled in surprise, “careful with that brain, Durin. Don’t want the masters guild thinkin’ you got a heart.”

Thorin laughed, “well fed workers work better. And the rest o’ that lot would know that if they weren’t so stubborn.” He patted Charlie’s head and said, “fed brains are better for studying too.”

Bard tapped his finger against his lips in thought. “Could work. We’d need someone to cook. And there’s a building out back that ain’t of use.”

Thorin nodded, “do your due diligence. Get some figures together. No promising,” he teased.

He walked off and let the man and boy make their way home together. He would help his workers if he could. Winter was hard for so many and it was harder on an empty stomach. He’d invest in his workers, always, before he invested in a risky endeavor. Loyal men were invaluable.

Three weeks later and Thorin had supplied Bard with a small sum to set up a soup kitchen. He would run it, of course, and keep the profits for themselves. Thorin did not expect immediate payment, he knew where the money would go and did not resent it. Bard and his son Bain spent a few days cleaning up the unused shed in the back of the mill and were able to find several long tables and benches for very cheap. They procured donated cutlery and dishes from a local church and in no time the kitchen was up and running.

Tilda had been brought into the business cooking for the workers. It turned out that she was a fair cook and made a mean rabbit stew. The men were happy, children were being fed, and the Bowmans were stabilizing. Not getting rich, by any means, but they were able to keep all the children fed and they were able to keep good clothes on their backs. Bard had mentioned his hope of sending the young ones to school, something he had never been able to do for his own children. Thorin was happy to hear of it and wished him well of it.

Not long after, just after the snows melted, Dis was married.

The big to-do was beautiful. Full of flowers and pretty lace and lots of smiling people. Guests from all over Milton society came to shower the new couple with gifts and well wishes. Of course, the Bagginses were in attendance, and they were quite happy to do so. Thorin felt a little embarrassed at Bilbo seeing him with Anne Latimer on his arm at the wedding. He had intended to make a marriage with her, Mister Latimer being of great means and Anne being very kind and sweet. It would be a good match. If Thorin could keep the mill going, that is.

It was difficult, concealing the state of their affairs from the rest of Milton. They were losing money. Their buyers were not paying what he was owed and the bank was eager to be paid. They could not hold out for much longer and Thorin was worried. Very worried.

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo chided his father, “don’t you dare refuse this invitation. I think it will do you good.”

Bungo fingered the letter in his hands and looked sheepish. Gandalf had invited him, yet again, to come with him to a reunion at Oxford where he was schooled. “You know, I think it will.” Bungo made ready to leave and in a few days he was packed and ready to travel.

Bilbo consoled him before he left, “not to worry, father. I’m sure that you’ll have a lovely time. Everything will be fine and I can’t wait to hear all the stories you’ll acquire of your friends and colleagues from Oxford.”

Bungo hugged him and said goodbye and took a cab to the train.

Bilbo was right, of course, that he would enjoy his visit. He planned to stay for some two weeks and he greatly enjoyed his first few days there. He met Gandalf every morning for a leisurely stroll and coffee, afterwards. He met his old school mates in the evening for dinner and brandy, just like he had in his youth. It all made him feel very young again.

On his fourth day he wrote a letter to Bilbo whilst he sat in the garden of one of the chapels on campus. It was so peaceful and the weather so fine that Bungo was loathe to be inside. The spring was awakening the life of nature again and he loved to watch the green come back into the leaves and the grass and see the buds of flowers begin to pop up. He wrote as much to Bilbo and told him of his first few days.

When Gandalf happened upon him he said, “I worry about him.”

“Why would you worry, Bungo? He’s a very capable lad.”

“I know,” Bungo conceded. “But he’s never had to make his way in the world. He has no profession because I never pushed him to do so. Belladonna and I wanted to keep him close after Frederick. I suppose that’s a failing on our part.”

“Where’s all this coming from?”

“I just worry that when I’m gone he’ll-”

“Nonsense!” Gandalf smiled comfortingly at him and said, “I’m his godfather, for heaven’s sakes! I’ll help him. Take care of him until he finds his way.” He looked at Bungo, whose head was bent to the letter in front of him, rereading his writing. “You know, I must say you look better than I have ever seen you in these last few months.”

Bungo smiled a small smile and said, “do you know? I think I feel it.” He raised his eyes to look at the campus garden around him. “It’s very strange, this feeling of contentment. It’s as if I have come home.”

Bungo soon finished his letter and he and Gandalf took a stroll through town. He dropped his letter to Bilbo in the post box and he and Gandalf attended dinner as planned. He ate his meal, drank his brandy, laughed and joked with his friends and then made his way to his bed.

He had had no intention of dying.

Rather, he had intended on attending a lecture of the Greek classics in the morning, a subject he was rather fond of. But instead, the voice of Belladonna entered his dreams and called him home to heaven.

 

\~*~/

 

The post reached Bilbo before Gandalf did.

His father had sent him a letter and Bilbo tore open the envelope excitedly, hoping to hear that his father was doing well.

 

 

_Dearest Bilbo,_

_I have been here three days already and I have had a marvelous time. Not everything is the same here at Oxford. It would be silly to assume that the world would not change in my absence. They’ve added new lecture halls, attendance at the university is higher, and there are now many more dorms available for those who wished to live on the campus. The changes are all very refreshing and I am glad for them._

_Gandalf is here with me. We have spent our mornings walking and our evenings with our friends. Us old men have not changed. We are still joking, happy young men when we are all together again, never minding our aches and pains. One of my colleagues has just celebrated the birth of a granddaughter and another has welcomed a new son-in-law into his family. A couple have died and a few have not been able to attend, regrettably, but many of us have been able to enjoy the reunion and for that I’m grateful. I am very happy to be here._

_I will not keep you at your desk long, for there are more important matters than letters from fathers. But I will leave you with gratitude. For being as good a son to your poor old father as any boy could be. Thank you for suggesting I come. It has made all the difference in my mood. I will be home soon. I hope you are faring well. Make sure the Gamgees have a few biscuits to spare for me upon my return._

_-Sincerely,_

_Bungo Baggins_

 

Bilbo smiled at reading the letter, happy to hear that his father was doing well. He slipped it into his desk drawer and began writing a return one when the bell rang. He sighed and put his quill down to answer the door. When he opened it he saw it was Gandalf.

“Oh, Gandalf! How good to see you!” But Gandalf did not smile in return. In fact, he frowned and looked deeply sad. Dread filled Bilbo’s stomach and his mouth went dry. “What’s happened,” he asked, frantic.

“I think you should sit down for this, Bilbo,” Gandalf said gently. Gandalf steered Bilbo into the sitting room off from the entryway and deposited his unresponsive body into a chair. He kneeled to eye level in front of Bilbo and said, “I’m afraid that your father has left us.”

“But...but how?” Bilbo couldn’t understand it. “I just received a letter from him that said he was fine! He was to return in a few days!”

“He died in his sleep four days ago.”

“Four days! My father has been dead four days and no one thought to inform me?” Panic settled in. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be an orphan. Bungo couldn’t be dead. Couldn’t leave him alone like this.

“Shh,” Gandalf soothed, trying to stop Bilbo from yelling. “He went very peacefully, Bilbo. He died in his sleep.” He sighed and stood, walking to stand by the window. “I guess he never recovered from your mother’s death. It weighed heavily on him.”

Tears collected in his eyes but did not fall. “Where is he?”

“Buried in the churchyard at Oxford.”

Bilbo nodded. “He would have liked that.”

Gandalf looked at Bilbo, so stricken with grief in his chair. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Bilbo stared numbly. Unsure of what to say. “I must write to Drogo. Excuse me.”

“Of course,” Gandalf said, excusing himself to leave. “Call upon me should you need anything, Bilbo. I can help you with your financial situation. Educate you on your inheritance.”

Bilbo nodded, unthinking, and walked up the steps to his room. He heard the front door close and only then did he allow himself to weep. He dropped to his knees in front of his bed and he cried. He cried until his lungs hurt and he was gasping. It was so unfair! Life had kicked him more times than he could count! First his brother, then his mother and now his father. Add in the loss of Thorin and Bilbo thought that he couldn’t bear it. At length he composed himself, rubbing the tears from his eyes and sucking in deep breaths. He still had letters to write and the Gamgees to inform. There was much to do.

He sat at his desk and wrote the first of many letters.

 

_Dear Drogo,_

_I know not how to begin to express to you my newest grief. Father has died rather suddenly. He was away, at a reunion at Oxford, and I am told that he died in his sleep. I am rather distraught, for just before Gandalf came to tell me of the tragedy I had just received a letter from my father. He told me he was doing well. That he was happy. He said that he wanted biscuits when he came home. He did not think to die. I know not where to go from here, Drogo._

_I’m so very lost. So very alone. My sorrow is a living thing and it eats at me._

_-Bilbo_

 

\~*~/

 

“Bungo Baggins? Dead?” Thorin couldn’t believe it. He had just seen him. He was not his usual cheery self after the death of his wife but he was certainly not deathly. He was quite healthy. Thorin felt the loss of his friend and mentor acutely.

“Aye,” Bard nodded. He motioned for Thorin to come into the soup kitchen with him. “Come on,” Bard said. “We could all use with a bit of food, helps the grief go down easier.”

Thorin nodded and followed him into the kitchen. “When did you find out?”

“Just yesterday.” He put a plate of pot roast in front of Thorin and sat beside him to tuck into a plate of his own. “He’s been dead just over a week. Bilbo’s been so distraught. The man died in his sleep while he was away at Oxford. Bilbo didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.”

Thorin’s heart ached for him. He knew his fare share of loss and sorrow in his life but he still had his mother and sister. Bilbo had no body. “What do you suppose he will do now?”

“His cousin’s come to take him to his home in London. They’re settling his affairs in Milton. He’ll be gone before the week’s out I’m sure.”

That didn’t sit well with Thorin. Even after rejection and hurtful words between them Thorin still cared deeply for Bilbo. He wanted to comfort him, to give him happiness, to shield him from tears of sadness. He pushed his plate away and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said before making his way toward home.

He wanted Bilbo to stay. Needed him to stay.

When he walked into his house he heard voices. “Oh, it’s a terrible shame you can’t see my new home, Mister Baggins!” Dis’s voice carried, “I’ve just finished it with oriental wallpaper from the exhibition. Do you think you’ll want to visit?”

“Don’t be silly, girl,” his mother said. “He’ll not want to travel just to see your decorating, Dis.”

He walked into the parlour and Bilbo turned, hearing his footsteps. “Master Durin.”

“Mister Baggins.” He saw him fiddle with something in his fingers and focused on that.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, realizing he was fiddling. “I brought you father’s Plato. I thought you would like to keep it.” He handed it over to him and Thorin took it gently. “It was, after all, your first lesson with him.”

Thorin was truly touched. To know that Bilbo remembered such a small but powerful memory of Thorin’s just made him fall even more in love with him. “Thank you,” he said softly. He caressed the cover and said, “I will treasure it forever. As I will your father’s memory.” _And you. I will treasure you forever, if only you’d let me._ “Are you really going?”

Bilbo nodded, sadly it seemed to Thorin. “Yes. I’m afraid I...no longer belong here.” He looked pained to say it, Thorin thought, but then it could just be the still new pain of loss written on his face.

He turned to look at Thorin’s mother and said, “I know it was some time ago, Misses Durin, but I want to apologize for my harsh words at our last meeting. I know you meant well.”

Genuine surprise skimmed over her eyes. Anyone who didn’t know her wouldn’t have noticed the change, the slight relaxation of her face, the sign of pity in her eyes. But Thorin knew. He did not know of any arguments between them but apparently there had been and, from his mother’s face, it seemed as if all were forgiven. “When do you leave,” was all she said.

“Tomorrow morning.”

 _Not so soon! It cannot be,_ Thorin quailed internally.

“I must be going,” Bilbo said. “Still much to do before tomorrow.” He made his goodbyes and his mother and sister did so as well. Then he was out the door and down the stairs to leave.

Thorin panicked. He didn’t want him to be gone so soon. He followed Bilbo down the stairs and stopped him, “Bilbo,” he said softly.

Bilbo turned at the sound of his name. “Yes?” Uncertainty shone in his eyes, red and wet from crying. They were still so beautiful that Thorin forgot how to breathe.

“Are you really leaving?”

Bilbo nodded. “I must.” He opened his mouth as if to say more. But then he shook himself and simply said, “goodbye, Master Durin. It has been a pleasure.” And he smiled as if he meant it and turned to leave.

Thorin watched him get into his cab and watched it pull away. _Look back at me,_ he pled with Bilbo silently, hoping that Bilbo would show he cared. _Look back, look back, look back._ But Bilbo did not look back. And then he was gone.

And Thorin was lost.

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo spent the following three months in London with his cousin. He took up his old roomed he had used in the past when he visited. He wore black in memoriam. He found his only joy in spending time with Frodo. The tiny little boy had no notion of sadness yet and Bilbo envied him. He wished he could go back to a time of ignorant bliss as he had experienced as a child. Drogo did what he could to lift his spirits but nothing could be done for him. That was until Gandalf decided to pay him a visit.

“Oh, Gandalf! Are you serious?”

“Yes, dear boy. I was just thinking, ‘what better way to enjoy the summer than a day in the country’?”

“Oh, Helstone! It’s been so long!” He smiled brightly and said, “when shall we go? Tomorrow?”

Gandalf laughed and assured that they would go tomorrow if Bilbo wished it and they cemented their plans to leave early the next morning. The train ride was pleasant. It felt as if he were going home after a long while away. He watched the countryside whip by the windows as the train sped on. They reached the Shire of Helstone early in the day and Bilbo immediately wished to see his old home. He knew the new parsons lived there but he didn’t care. He felt that if he could see the last known place of happiness in his life that he could regain it.

 _Coming home_ , he thought.

But when they got there it was not the same. His lovely roses were gone, cut away to leave a wide lawn. The ivy pulled down from the brick face of the house. It was no longer his home. They took tea with the new parsons and his realization was only further confirmed when the new pastor had said he preferred an uneducated, more simple, congregation. “None of this doubting, intellectualism of today,” he had said. It was absurd. He had nearly lost his temper and then Gandalf made an excuse for them to leave. Bilbo was glad for it.

They walked down main street together, arms linked, and they chuckled. “To think,” Gandalf mused, “she called the north ‘wild’. I’d say, Misses Durin would rather enjoy being called wild.”

Bilbo laughed genuinely for the first time in weeks. He looked around his old home and said, “you know, when we first arrived in Milton I was guilty of romanticising the south. But now, I find myself doing the exact opposite.” And it was true. Bilbo had grown used to the fast pace of the north. The people who knew much of life even if they never went to school. The society that was wealthy but matter of fact. Thorin.

“Oh dear, I don’t think she’d appreciate the title of ‘romantic’.” They laughed heartily at the idea and stopped to take a rest on the bench. “Do you find Milton romantic, Bilbo? Perish the thought.”

When they were seated Bilbo had the urge to unload some of his burden. “I have something to confess to you Gandalf,” Bilbo said. Knowing there was no one for a long while around who would hear or judge he told Gandalf about Frederick. “When mother was dying, Frederick came to say goodbye. He left before the funeral. You have to know why, given the circumstances. But when he was leaving, at the train station, we were spotted. By Master Durin.”

“Ah,” Gandalf said. Then seeing Bilbo’s distress he understood a bit more. He sensed there was more between Thorin and Bilbo than just civility. “Ahh, indeed. He saw you embracing Frederick and thought-”

“Not just that.” He licked his lips and told him about Smeagol. About how he lied about his being there to give Fred more time to get out of the country.

“Is he safe now?”

Bilbo nodded. “I had a letter just before I left Milton. He’s married now. Settled down in Cadiz.”

“Well, if you like, I could explain to Thorin about Frederick-”

“Oh no! Please,” Bilbo said. “I do wish he knew sometimes but I doubt it will help much at this point if he knew. Please keep the secret?”

“If you wish it so,” Gandalf acquiesced. “You know, since we’re sharing. I thought I might tell you that I’ve signed over a large portion of my wealth to you.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “What? Why?”

“Because I don’t believe in letting people with large inheritances sitting around waiting for relatives to die just to collect an inheritance. My money is sitting around doing lots of nothing and you, young Bilbo, are sure to put it to good use.”

“But what about you?”

Gandalf folded his hands in front of him and smiled sadly, “I didn’t come to London just to visit you Bilbo. I also saw my doctor.” He sighed and said, “seems I’m not long for this world either.”

Bilbo covered his mouth with his hand in shock. “You can’t be serious?”

“Quite serious. In fact, I’ve decided to spend my final months in Argentina, where I spent much of my youth, warming my sick, old body under the sun.”

Bilbo shook his head. “What am I to do? All those I hold dear are dying around me. What am I to do?”

Gandalf patted the man’s back and said, “I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do. You have the means now to do great things, Bilbo Baggins. And you must not think of my death and be sad, Bilbo. Think of me with a drink in my hand, laying on a warm beach, enjoying my life.” He looked at his pocket watch and said, “and now, if we leave on the next train we will be back in London by dinnertime. What do you say, Bilbo?”

Bilbo nodded, unseeing, unthinking. He took Gandalf’s arm for support, as if he were the sick one, and was silent all the way back to London. But once the reality set in he began to hope for better. He was now a man of means. Perhaps he could make a difference. When their cab stopped at Drogo’s home Bilbo looked at Gandalf and said, “I think you’re right, Gandalf. I think I will be quite alright.”

“That’s the spirit, lad.”

Bilbo climbed out and waved Gandalf off. He went inside to tell Drogo of his bittersweet news. He had much to think on.

 

 

\~*~/

 

Thorin couldn’t believe the news. Yet he held the paperwork in his hands that said it in black and white. Gandalf had signed over all his money and property to Bilbo Baggins, his godson. Gandalf was dying, slowly, of cancer and meant to live out his life in Argentina.

“But what about you? Won’t you need something to live on,” Thorin asked, still disbelieving.

“I have much left to have a very comfortable life down there, I assure you.”

Thorin nodded and asked, “when do you sail?”

“Wednesday.” He saw Thorin’s worried expression and said, “don’t worry yourself, Thorin. Bilbo is landlord in name only. He is not likely to interfere with your business, I assure you.”

Thorin sniffed and said, “there might not be much left for him to interfere with, I’m afraid.” He frowned. “Besides, he wouldn’t bother. Him having such a low opinion of me.”

Gandalf saw the sadness in his eyes, the resignation in his voice. “You know...perhaps you’re wrong on him, Thorin.” Thorin didn’t let on that he heard and Gandalf rose to leave. But he tried one more time to get Thorin to understand that he knew Bilbo also felt something. He wanted to explain, even if it wasn’t his story to tell. “Thorin, I think I should tell you, that man that-”

“I’m busy,” Thorin said, cutting him off. “Please, your business is done in Milton but I still have mine for the time being.” He turned away from him. “Let me return to it.” He didn’t look at Gandalf as he left, too much swirling in his mind. Bilbo was now a well set man. Of age, handsome, with money behind him. He was now a suitable catch. And soon Thorin would not be worth the ground he walked on. His grasp on the mill was slipping and he would never catch up. Knowing that Bilbo held the deed to his mill, his home, only made matters worse.

A few days later more bad news came in the form of Dis storming into the house and gloating. “I was right! Admit it!” Vili Rorin’s speculation had paid of, quite successfully. Thorin had not participated and now he had angered Mister Rorin further by not joining him in the winnings. Dis said that she would ask her husband to loan Thorin money to keep the mill going but didn’t think that he would. “A gentleman pays his own way” is what he always said and Thorin had, to his mind, not paid his way. He didn’t begrudge him that opinion.

They would lose the house. The mill. Everything he had worked for. Maybe they would take their mother in, out of pity. But Thorin would be sunk. Disgraced. Like his father. The thought made him sick.

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo had spent the rest of the summer working with Henry Lennox on trying to acquit his brother of all charges. They were on their way to a hearing and they were happy with the progress. While it was unlikely to succeed Bilbo thought it would make his parents proud to know that he was trying to do right by them and Frederick. With his new earnings he was able to send a little money to the Bowmans, for they kept in touch. He was very happy with his new independence and joined a little of London society, though he did not like it overmuch. He did enjoy his evenings with Drogo and his time with Frodo. He treasured his family and was pleased to spend so much time with him.

One morning over breakfast Mister Lennox came to the table smiling, papers in his hands, “Bilbo you’ve made money!”

“Overnight? While I slept? Well, how clever of me? What did I do to earn this money,” he chuckled over a scone and jam.

“Gandalf invested in a speculation that paid out one hundred to one. It was headed by that Rorin fellow in Milton.”

“Vili Rorin? Dis Durin’s husband?”

“The very one. They’ve become very rich, I’ll say.” He smirked and poured himself some coffee. “Can’t say the same for her brother. He didn’t take the chance and now he’s flat broke.”

Bilbo’s hands stuttered over his plate, fork and knife clattering at the shock. “What do you mean?”

“The strike did him in. You’ll be looking for a new tenant soon, I’m sure.”

The knowledge of Thorin’s dire circumstances ate at him. He wanted to help him. Even if Thorin still thought lowly of him Bilbo thought that his did not deserve to lose all he worked at his whole life because of misguided violence. Later he talked with Mister Lennox about the mills debts. They went over the figures and calculated together that, if they dug Thorin out of debt and he made his quotas, that Bilbo would get a great deal of interest in return. “This is a very risky speculation though,” Henry warned.

“I know. But in the end I think it will be worth it.”

Henry frowned at the paperwork under his fingers and asked quietly, “Bilbo?”

“Yes, Henry?” Mister Lennox looked at him, searching his eyes. “Would there have ever been a time when we could have been together? Been happy?” He sighed and averted his gaze, “I wanted to believe that with our rekindled friendship that attachment would grow as it had in me. But that’s not what you want, is it?”

Bilbo felt sorry for him, for the hurt he felt at Bilbo’s rejection. “No, Henry.” He clasped hands with him. “It isn’t, I’m sorry.”

Henry nodded and wrapped up the papers on his desk. “Well, better to have loved and lost, yes?”

Bilbo didn’t answer. Because he had done just that and he didn’t know if it was for better or worse. He had no clue.

 

\~*~/

 

Two weeks went by.

The mill closed its last day and it broke Thorin’s heart. He walked the rows of still machinery and it was eerie. No noise. No fluff. No bodies to work the mill. It was empty and would remain empty until someone bought out the debt or the space and did something with it. Thorin couldn’t bear the thought that he wouldn’t be the one to do it.

At length he saw Bard walking towards him, towards the exit and Thorin smiled. “What’re you still doing here?”

“Had to finish the job, didn’t I? Just because it’s the last day doesn’t mean we leave a job half done.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Bard leaned against a machine and said, “if you’re ever in a position to take on employees again there’s a fair number o’ us who’d be willin’ to work for you. You’re a fair employer. We’re sad to see it go this way.” Thorin smiled at that. Small consolation, to be liked by one’s former employee.

“Ever hear from Mister Baggins,” Bard asked.

Thorin nodded and said, “I hear he’s in London now. Very comfortable and content.” He frowned, “we’re not likely to see him again.”

“London,” Bard asked, surprised. “Would’ve thought he’d go to Spain.”

Thorin turned his head to Bard, eyebrow twitched in confusion. “Why Spain?”

“That’s where his brother lives. Last of his family. Thought he’d want to be with ‘im.”

“But…” that’s impossible, he thought. “Mister Baggins didn’t have another son.”

Bard smirked. “When the Missus Baggins was dyin’ my Tilda would help them. She told me that the man who had stayed with them was Bilbo’s brother.”

“Why didn’t he tell me,” Thorin whispered, disbelieving.

Bard shrugged. “Somethin’ to do with the law. Good boy but he found himself on the wrong side o’ the Navy. Bad run o’ luck, that.”

Thorin smiled despite himself. “He was his brother.” So much made sense then. And then guilt flowed over him. And I had behaved so harshly to him. Was so mean, for no reason.

“Well,” Bard said, holding out a hand. “Been a pleasure doin’ business with you, Durin.”

Thorin took his hand and shook it firmly. “You as well Bowman. Good luck.”

He thought all night about this new knowledge of Bilbo. _A brother. A brother. A secret brother._ He needed to tell Bilbo that he was sorry for the things he had said. For his unkind words. For shaming him for doing naught but caring for his family. He had much to atone for. He wished he understood Bilbo enough to know how to do it. It was rather indelicate to send a letter saying _“oh hello, Bilbo. I know your family’s dark secret and I no longer hold your actions against you. I still love you! Please say you love me in return! Marry me!_ Even more awkward to do so in person. What to do?

He decided to take a trip to Helstone. To see the place that started Bilbo on his path into Thorin’s life. The next morning he left on the early train to visit the small town. He found neat lanes, neat houses, beautiful countryside and gardens. And roses. Hidden in the hedgerow of Bilbo’s old home, the parsonage. Little yellow roses. He plucked one and smelled it. Sweet with the end of summer. He did not understand Bilbo himself any better but he did now understand why he had held Helstone in such high esteem. It was easy to see peace everywhere in Helstone. Even if it was lazy and quiet.

In the early afternoon he boarded the train back to Milton and tried to think of a plan to express his feelings to Bilbo properly. He needed Bilbo to know that, even when he had nothing, his heart was full with him.

 

\~*~/

 

Bilbo boarded the morning train to Milton to propose his plan to Thorin.

But it seemed that fate did not wish for it to happen. It went to the mill looking for Thorin but he found the place empty. No machines whirring, no fluff filling the air, no people busying about. It was lifeless and Bilbo was sorry to see it. He walked through the mill, looking for Thorin and found Misses Durin instead.

“He’s not here, you know?”

Bilbo stared at her with sympathy. “I see that.” She crossed her arms as she walked over to him. “I don’t know where he is. He’s been brought as low as he can be. But he’s not here for you to crow over him and for that I’m grateful.”

Bilbo sighed and took the old woman’s hand. “I didn’t come to lord over you all. This is not a victory for anyone.”

She snatched it back, hurt in her eyes. “Just go. We’ll be gone from here soon enough.”

Bilbo had no wish to distress her further and he left her. He spent some time at the Bowmans', visiting the young ones, and checking up on Bard. He did not know what to do but his scheme with the soup kitchen had paid off well enough and they would be fine for a few weeks while he looked for work. Bilbo was happy for that.

In the afternoon he boarded a train to London, resolute on returning when he knew that Thorin could be found. Just as they were about to leave a stop midway to London when an announcement came through that there would be a small delay. The northbound train was coming in and the southbound would have to wait. Taking the small opportunity to stretch his legs before the train left again, Bilbo left his cabin to walk the platform. He watched the northbound train pull in and stood to watch the faces in the windows slide by.

When, at last, it slowed and stopped Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat. There, in the window in front of him, was Thorin. He looked just as surprised to see Bilbo there and left his compartment immediately. He stood in front of Bilbo, towering over him. “Where were you going,” he asked.

Bilbo jerked a thumb to the train behind him, “London.” He licked his lips and said, “I’ve just come from Milton. Looking for you, actually.”

Thorin’s face softened, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Bilbo nodded. “I- I have a business proposition for you. If you’d like to hear it.” Thorin motioned to the bench that sat in the middle of the platform and they say. “My financiers tell me that I have some £15,000 sitting in the bank accruing very little interest.” Thorin’s open expression, loving eyes distracted him so he looked at his hands in his lap. “I am told if I were to take that money and invest it in the mill that it, in time, would give me a greater return.”

Thorin understood what he was saying and clasped his hands in his own and Bilbo blushed at the contact. He cleared his throat, “so, you see, if you were to agree, you’d be helping me a great deal and…” he looked at Thorin’s face once more and was lost in his deep, blue eyes. “and...I’d be helping you too,” he whispered.

“Oh, Bilbo,” Thorin whispered in return. Thorin was overcome with the weight of Bilbo’s proposal. He meant to save him. Thorin knew Bilbo would have never offered if he did not want to help Thorin, if he did not feel in someway fond of him. He wanted to reach out and kiss him but he did not want to be rejected again.

But Bilbo surprised him again and raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed Thorin’s hand. “Will you let me care for you Thorin? Please,” Bilbo asked, sincerely and fondness, love, pouring from his words.

Thorin could hold back no longer. He freed his hands from Bilbo’s and held Bilbo’s face. Bilbo leaned into his touch and closed his eyes, sighing. Heart hammering in his chest, Thorin leaned down to close the small space between them and press his lips gently to Bilbo's.

The touch startled Bilbo and he gasped. He had not hoped that Thorin felt the same. Could never hope that Thorin still cared for him after so much between them. But here was proof, pressing against his lips, holding his head so gently that it made Bilbo want to cry. So tender. Bilbo gingerly put his hands on Thorin’s chest, feeling the solid body beneath it, surrendering to Thorin’s kisses, opening up beneath him.

“Train for London about to depart!” the announcement came, startling them apart. “Train for London about to depart!”

“Oh,” Bilbo breathed. He jumped up to catch the train before he left. He jerked open the door and collected his small bag out of his compartment before it left without him. Belongings in hand he turned around to see a very confused, distressed Thorin. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Then Thorin understood when Bilbo walked towards him, bag in hand, while the London train pulled away. “Coming home with me, then,” he asked tentatively.

Bilbo nodded and handed his bag to Thorin. The dark haired man grinned and held open his compartment door for Bilbo and they both settled in for the stretch back to more. As soon as the train began to move Bilbo couldn’t help it. He couldn’t contain his smile or excitement. He stared at Thorin openly with fondness and said, “so is this a yes on my proposal?”

Thorin smiled and nodded, leaning in to place another small, sweet kiss to Bilbo’s lips. “Yes. Yes, my dear Bilbo.”

Thorin’s hand found it’s way to his cheek again and Bilbo leaned into it, pressing his own hand to Thorin’s. “I love you, Thorin.”

Thorin kissed him again and said, “I love you too Bilbo.” He smiled sheepishly and said, “I have no ring to give at the moment. No grand gestures. But will you have me anyway?” He bit his lip. “Will you marry me, now?”

Bilbo nodded emphatically and kissed him. “Yes. Yes. Yes, Thorin.” He punctuated each word with a kiss. And in that moment, in Thorin’s arms, he felt as if he had finally come home.


	5. Epilogue

It was nearing spring again when Bilbo and Thorin finally wed.

During the months that stretched between their engagement and wedding both Bilbo and Thorin had much to do. Right away they explained to Thorin’s mother that they indeed were very much in love. She was not fond of the idea but she knew Thorin was finally happy, understood what took Bilbo so long to give in and admit he loved her son. She would never be overly warm to him but she would soften to him just enough to make Bilbo feel welcomed. Dis welcomed him into the family right away, thankful that his money saved her from having to take their mother in.

She invited them over often and they took tea in her new home once a week where Dis showed off her oriental paper to Bilbo. Late at night, while they spent their evenings together in their home, Thorin and Bilbo would giggle over the ugliness of the paper and make fun of the overly gaudy dragons she insisted on bedecking her house with. 

Once the mill was officially up and running Bard set to with his kitchen scheme again. The profits from the venture set them up well and Charlie was eventually able to go to school. Bard refused to let Boucher's children enter the mills, determined to keep them from suffering Sigrid's fate. He felt that while Boucher would certainly not forgive him for driving him mad he would be happy to see that Bard was doing right by his children. Which was more than he could have said while he lived. 

Finally, on a clear but crisp day in March Bilbo, alone in his room, donned his favorite waistcoat; it was green with gold striped and little buttons with acorns on them. Over that he pulled a black jacket and fine slacks and boots. He finished the ensemble with a green cravat speckled with gold flecks, at Thorin’s insistence. It was much finer than the attire he normally wore but he excused his extravagance. It was his wedding day, after all. 

Thorin had chosen to wear a deep blue waistcoat with silver buttons and his customary black suit and white cravat. He looked at himself in the mirror and found that he was smiling. He had done it so much in the last few months and yet it was so strange to see his face so light and full of joy. 

The two men met in the parlour where they had spent so much time, before and after their engagement, and found themselves breathless. They shared a moment to take in each other's preparations for their union.

Bilbo smiled fondly. “You look very fine today, Thorin.” 

“So do you, Bilbo.” He kissed the man’s cheek, smiling at Bilbo’s blushing cheeks. “Are you ready to forever be dubbed husband?”

“I do believe I am. Are you, Thorin?”

They joined hands and left their home together. Rather than walk the distance they took a cab together. They had eschewed the traditional big wedding that most people in society chose to do. Instead, when they arrived at the church, they saw their closest friends. Drogo and Primula and Frodo, Bard and his brood, Misses Durin and Dis and her new husband. A scattered few other friends. But the affair was very small and intimate. Just like Bilbo had always imagined.

They said their vows together, walked through the doors together, and had their wedding dinner together with their guests. And later that night they walked to Thorin’s room together and closed the door behind them. While they were at their wedding, Bilbo’s belongings had been moved to Thorin’s room and their lives were effectively joined; spiritually and physically.

Thorin pulled Bilbo to him after they closed the door. He pressed a small, soft kiss to Bilbo's lips and asked, "are you very happy, husband?"

Bilbo nuzzled into Thorin's neck, smelling his warm, musky skin. "Undeniably." He truly meant it. He spent the rest of the night showing him just how much, in fact. And then he spent the rest of his life trying to convince him. 

 

~Fin~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by my friend Megan who suggested it in the first place. Cause she needed, needed, needed it.


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